Stop for a moment and just take a good look around your home. If you’ve lost anyone, no matter if it happened a couple of months ago or five years back, you must surely have “the spots.” You know exactly which spots I’m talking about. The drawers or corners of closets full of personal items, such as their shoes neatly arranged as if they are ready to wear them.
These small reminders surround all of us. The smell of familiar laundry soap in a worn hoodie, or an old wristwatch that no longer ticks, or even a coffee cup with a small crack on the rim they didn’t want to throw away. There is also the most important item, a bed, the very bed they rested in every single day of their life.
These items do nothing but sit and stare. They neither speak nor act; they are what they are and never change. Yet for so many of us, something begins to weigh heavily upon us in their presence. There is an odd sort of uneasiness that we are reluctant to discuss openly at dinner parties. It becomes apparent to us, and we cannot deny the feeling of fear.
You begin to stand in the doorway of the bedroom and wonder aloud, “Is it wrong of me to lie down here?” or “Is it bad luck for me to put this on?” We do not openly admit such sentiments because they seem illogical. We are rational beings, and we know that sweaters are nothing more than knitted material. However, when it comes to grief, logic has no place. These questions sit at the crossroads of memory, emotion, and the ancient traditions surrounding death.
Yet, when one takes out the superstition and the raw nerves behind it, what remains is much more realistic. And believe it or not, it’s a whole lot more reassuring than the stories we tell ourselves.
Go back in time, or look at other civilizations, and one thing is certain – objects take on the personality of the person who owns them. Words like “energy” and “aura” become prevalent. Concerns arise that, when a person dies, his or her personal effects carry some part of the death within them. This is where the rumors of “haunted mirrors” or “cursed jewelry” come from.
After experiencing a loss, the whole world seems amplified. Your senses become hyper-aware of your surroundings. An unoccupied room isn’t simply empty – it is “heavy.” Familiar items, such as their reading glasses sitting on the nightstand, appear to be foreign artifacts. The bed doesn’t feel “full” enough of their presence to lie in.
However, when we take a psychological perspective into account, this emotional response doesn’t come from the item itself. It comes from us. There are no actual “hard drives” in which an object can store a soul. A wooden chair does not remember the individual who used it for twenty years. A blanket does not contain the sadness of past events. A mattress does not keep the soul of its occupant or their intentions.
What happens is that people project their inner worlds onto external objects. People themselves place love, trauma, and other emotions onto material possessions in order to cope with the “heaviness” of loss, which cannot be measured. This distinction is crucial. If the fear exists in the object, one becomes a hostage to their dwelling place. If the fear is created within one’s mind, there is hope for resolution.
However, when we begin to think that the objects themselves are the issue, the way in which we navigate our world is transformed. We no longer enter particular rooms. We do not open specified closets. We feel as if we are visitors in our very own personal museum of sadness. At these times, grieving becomes less an emotional journey and more of a spatial one.
One such story that is often used by grief counselors is the following: There once was an older lady whose husband passed away fifty years after their marriage. His death occurred peacefully and took place on the couch in the living room – his favorite seat, in which he spent every single night.
She found it impossible to sit on that couch after her husband’s funeral. Then she felt unable to enter the room itself. Her reluctance started gradually but soon turned into a serious matter; she began to think of the room as “marked.” As she remembered stories told to her by people from her village, she believed staying in such rooms brought bad luck and prevented spirits from “moving on.”
Thus, she put her whole life in the kitchen. In it, she arranged a cot next to the stove and led all her life in this one little room, passing the living room as if she were stepping through the site of some crime. For months, she lived this way, constrained and uncomfortable, fearing the “energy” in this room.
Finally, exhausted, she simply entered it and sat down. She expected something to occur. She waited for the feeling of coldness, of displeasure, or an ill omen.
Nothing happened.
It was only silence. There were dust particles floating in the light. His books were still stacked there. This is not what she had imagined to be a brick wall erected out of fear but a foggy wall out of it. She had changed a lot since then. Reclaiming the room did not imply that she no longer missed him but rather that she was no longer fearful of their past life.
The bed question
Undoubtedly, this is what people most grapple with. “Is it okay to sleep on the bed?”
From a practical perspective, a bed is simply a device used for sleeping. It’s metal frame, foam padding, and cloth coverings. It does not act as a spiritual sponge. In other words, unless you are facing an urgent hygienic matter, such as prolonged sickness and an old, worn-out mattress, there is absolutely no danger in sleeping on the bed.
However, the problem lies in the psychological element. To some people, lying down in that bed is the only way they can sleep. It’s comforting like a hug and reminds them of their loved one. However, it may be extremely upsetting to others because it serves as a reminder of their loss.
Both of these approaches are fine. There isn’t a “right” approach to furniture either. If the bed gives you peace of mind, leave it there. If it gives you the feeling of claustrophobia, then replace it. Get new bedding, or move the bed against another wall, or get an entirely new bed if you can afford it. This is not being disrespectful; it’s known as self-care. You must be able to sleep in order to recover from this trauma.
The burden of “stuff”
What about their clothes? The shoes. The half-filled bottle of cologne. People tend to think that by preserving every little thing, they’re protecting their memories from extinction.
But holding onto things out of fear is entirely different from doing so out of love. A jacket stored in the closet for ten years will not help you keep that memory alive—you’ll do that yourself.
Here’s where the better way to do things comes into play. Be mindful and selective. Choose a couple of items that are truly meaningful to you—a watch they loved wearing or a sweater they wore during a vacation. These are your “anchor objects”.
Everything else? Consider letting go of them. Imagine how good it would make you feel if you saw their coat on someone else who needed it. It’s like you’re taking that frozen energy and releasing it into the world. And there’s nothing wrong with making the memory an act of kindness.
If you feel overwhelmed by what’s left behind, remember that you don’t have to accomplish everything at once. It may take some time.
Go slowly. Begin with something small like decluttering one night stand or wearing that shirt they used to wear around the house for a while and seeing if it makes you feel better. If you feel good, keep it. Otherwise, store it away.
There are no rules to be followed. The “mourning police” aren’t going to stop by and check on your progress.
Conclusion
Ultimately, the possessions that belong to someone are not “haunted.” They do not contain the spirits of the dead or carry the weight of negative energies. They are simply items used within the narrative of an individual’s life.
What truly lasts is not the cracked cup or the dilapidated bed frame, but the emotions they inspired in you and the manner in which they shaped your perspective on life—the things you laugh about now and the way you think because of them.
Once the dread over the “possessions” has dissipated, one will see that it was not the things themselves that provided their love in the first place; it was them. When the dread subsides, all that is left is an unshakable sense of peace that allows one to continue living amid the memories without being haunted by them.
Please SHARE this article with your family and friends on Facebook.