It is the question every collector dreads: “What is going to happen to all your stuff?” The question usually carries the unsaid assumption – “when you die.” A collector who dies with his/her stuff is fortunate. My stock answer always has been, “when I die, it is not my problem.” If only this had proven to be the case.
Like most collectors, I am forced to face the “what is going to happen” question while still drawing breath. It is not something I planned. My goal is to collect until the day I die, a desire I still hope to accomplish. What I failed to anticipate was a time when my pile of goodies became bigger than the space available to house it. I collected merrily for more than 60 years assuming there would always be space.

There is no way I am going to condense 14,000 square feet of stuff into less than 3,000 square feet. I refuse to rent space, especially several states away, knowing the chances of my resurrecting the material are between slim and none. The only answer is the disposal (what an ugly and disgusting word) of several major and most secondary collections.

I love my objects. Each is as precious as the next. They are all my favorites. Every one of them has a separate and unique personality. They are as vital a part of my life as the blood that flows through my body and the air that I breathe. The loss of any one of them reduces a portion of my soul. The mere thought is overwhelming.

As I face the prospect of deciding what to sell, keep, or toss after more than 60 years of accumulating, I passed the collecting stage decades ago, I recognize that I am about to go through Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s seven stages of grief. Ross’s On Death and Dying (1969) focuses on the grief process as it related to tragedy and death, especially when associated with a terminal illness. Her concept quickly expanded to all forms of catastrophic personal loss, such as freedom, income, and jobs. It is time to expand them one step further – to the agony and grief a collector feels when faced with the irreversible need to dispose of some or all of his/her collections. Death in this instance is defined as “no longer owning the object.”

The Kübler-Ross stages apply to two different types of loss: (a) after the fact and (b) facing the fact. I have talked with collectors who have lost key pieces through theft and breakage. Such losses are catastrophic. In collecting, loss is almost always about the inevitability that the loss must occur. There is no stopping the ticking of the clock. It will strike 12.

The seven stages of collecting grief are: (1) shock and denial, (2) pain and guilt, (3) anger and bargaining, (4) depression and an intense feeling of loneliness, (5) the first light, a far different stage than Ross’s upward turn; (6) acceptance, and (7) parting.

Shock and Denial: No collector sees the end coming. When I put 5093 Vera Cruz Road, the former Vera Cruz (Pennsylvania) Elementary School where my collections are housed, up for sale, I knew it would sell. The sale took 18 months, plenty of time to develop a plan for what I would do with my collections. The longer the building took to sell, the more I deluded myself into thinking that it would never sell, my secret wish, thus postponing the need to deal with the “what to do with my things” question forever. When the building did sell, I was no further along in deciding what to sell, keep, or toss than when I first put it on the market.

The decision to sell the building took more than two years. Although my personal and economic situation had reached the point where selling The School made sense logically, I continuously denied reason. Something surely would occur that would save the day and allow me to keep The School. The stars upon which I wished were non-responsive.

I was in shock when I called the realtor to list The School. I felt a strong sense of betrayal to my things. I had set a plan in motion to put them on the street, to send them to new homes, the equivalent of relegating them to an orphanage.

Pain and Guilt: I never became a dealer because I could not comprehend why someone would want to sell anything he loved. I did not trade. I kept everything. The mere thought that I would ever have to dispose of even one object was painful. The need to sell everything was my worst nightmare. My nightmare is reality.

I bought objects for reasons. “Because I wanted it,” the only reason a true collector needs, was first and foremost. However, objects turned into illustrations that appeared in the books I authored and edited and were used for classroom hands-on education, decoration, and reuse. I found multiple “justifications” for everything I purchased. The reasons remain valid. This is why I am experiencing strong guilt pangs. What happens when I need one of these objects in the future and I no longer own it? What will I do then?
I built my collections not only to serve me but the trade. By selling them, I not only fail myself but my trade as well. The guilt level is high.

Anger and Bargaining: I am angry I did not plan better. If only I had bought less and saved more. I failed to anticipate the long-term costs to house and maintain my collections.

While blame is not one of the Kübler-Ross steps, it is very much part of my anger at myself. I am a mirror-blamer. When assessing who is to blame for something, the first thing I do is look in the mirror. I could blame shifts in the economy and collecting tastes, eBay, unappreciative current and future generations of collectors, and others for my dilemma. The simple truth is that I and I alone am to blame for the situation in which I find myself.

The bargaining over what to keep versus what to sell or toss has been going on for years. Fortunately, I do not have to sell everything. I still have 2,800 square feet to fill. I can keep some things. But, what? There rests the problem. How can you tell one object you love it enough to keep it and another that although your love is strong, you have to let it go? Right now the “keep” list would fill 6,000 square feet. The bargaining continues.