A lifetime in a file cabinet

I spent most of Thursday morning pulling files from one file cabinet, which would be donated to Habitat for Humanity that afternoon, and putting them in a new file cabinet. Cleaning out files is a periodic task that has to be done from time to time. I found some files that could be thrown away — instruction manuals and warranties for appliances we no longer own, packages for insurance policies that have expired, and duplicate copies of travel brochures and similar items. But what was left to be refiled tells a story about a life.

There are the expected items — tax forms from years past, credit agreements and reports, medical records, auto maintenance receipts and so forth. But there are also the less expected papers we have collected over the past 35-plus years. Four bulging folders are filled with family histories and family events — genealogical records, Civil War ancestors' service records, mementos of family gatherings and the sad evidence of my parents' decline into dementia. Another trunk downstairs contains histories and photos of my wife's ancestors. One bulging file was filled with letters, mostly from our children when they were away at school before e-mail replaced handwritten letters. I set that file aside and transferred its contents into a box that will go into the attic, where other boxes hold letters saved from earlier years from parents and friends. Two files titled "Home" hold the records of improvements and repairs to the only two houses we've owned in the past 29 years, reminding us of the countless hours of work that went into each home.

Several files contain newspaper and magazine clippings, some of them about family members and others on topics of interest to us, ranging from parenting to gardening. There are clippings of photographs of spelling bee and Quiz Bowl winners and programs from middle school awards days.

One file that made it into the new cabinet had been rescued from a box in the attic just days before — my 35-year-old military records. I found the Officer Service Record in an unlabeled box (the fifth or sixth one I opened) and carried it downstairs. Though the ink had faded and the paper yellowed, I could still read the laudatory comments on the fitness reports and the terse language of appointments and assignments. As I browsed the records, I once again felt regret that I had not remained in the Coast Guard long enough to collect retirement.

The family file cabinet is once again well-organized, thanks largely to my wife's talent for organizing and collecting. The files titled "Family History" are misleading. Everything in the cabinet is, really, family history.