The Notebook

People die. It’s just a fact. Nothing can stop it from happening. Nothing can really prepare you for it. And surprisingly nothing can prepare you for having to clean up someone‘s life mess. That is what I have been asked to do, clean up someone’s house that just passed. Not just any someone, but my uncle.

As I spend every agonizing spare moment sifting through piles of old newspaper, clothes, and military memorabilia, the notion of just lighting a match and being done with it constantly crosses my mind. The only thing that stops me is that it would kill my mother. Not literally, but spiritually. She adored her brother. She was very proud that he served the country and never once complained. He was tough, quiet, and playful. He loved kids. He never had any of his own. In fact, he never married. He had plenty of opportunities, but just never found the “one” that he wanted to be with forever.

Uncle Jerry was a good man. A honest man. He was also a private man. I felt very uncomfortable going through his things, but my mother couldn’t bear to do it. All of our other relatives live too far away, or are too busy with their jobs and lives to possibly take time to help with this task. It seems almost wrong to me to be looking through his personal affects.

His kitchen, living room, dining room, and even the bathroom is packed and ready to be distributed to relatives or Good Will. I feel a sense of accomplishment, but at the same time, I am annoyed that I won’t get any enjoyment out of any of his things. I have no use for any of his furniture or personal affects. My apartment is small and I have enough of my own things to fill the space. The bedroom is the last room that I must pack up and I am not looking forward to going through the dressers and the small desk in there.

The bedroom is crowded with furniture and it is dark. The walls are painted dark and the ceiling fan only has one light bulb left that isn’t already brunt out. As I start the task of boxing up what remains of his belongings I notice his picture above the bed. It is him in his army uniform. He has a smirk, not a smile. It’s almost like he knows something the photographer doesn’t. His eyes follow me, which intrigues me but creeps me out at the same time, so I try not to look at it. I decided it will be the last thing I pack and I will make sure that my mother gets it.

As I finish stacking the boxes and looking around the room to make sure that I haven’t missed anything, I realize I am not done. The bed still needs to be stripped. I lift the mattress to remove the bedding so that it can be laundered and I notice a small black notebook between the mattress and the box springs. I grab it and sit it on the dresser. I finish stripping the bed as I mumble to myself about how much I hate doing laundry.

When I get done, I sit on the side of the bed and reach for the notebook. As I grab it, an envelope falls to the floor. The envelope has my name on it. I cautiously open it and inside I find a check for $20,000 and a note that says, “ For all the things you have done for me over the years. I know I can never repay you for all the love you have given me. But here is start. A start for your future. Please use it for a down payment on a house or for your college education. I know you will make me proud! Happy 21st birthday!” Tears stream down my cheeks, as I realize, I am 21 today!