People leave interesting things behind for the people who follow them. Most people look forward to the receipt of valuables as a means to enrich themselves. When all of my grandparents died last year, my parents had the chance to take things, and I obtained a few of my own. However, to me at least, other things are better than things. When I came home the first few months afterwards, my house smelled like my grandparents house because of things I now own that were once theirs. It made my house feel like a home for the first time in years.
When my paternal grandparents sold their house to move into a condo, I remember standing in the garage as they parted out belongings. We still joke in our family about the cooler my grandfather talked up for its accompanying family memories and resilience against the ravages of time when the bottom of the cooler dropped to hte floor. My paternal grandmother parted some of his belongings to me directly the day he died to keep them from being sold for money and because they were things of meaning to me. Although my father was surprised since he was the only military son of a WWII Veteran, he knows where to look for the things she gave me. I had memories of certain items that meant something to me, and I'm not sure I will ever use the wash cloth and towel she made me, because they are irreplaceable.
When my friend was killed in 2013, I inherited a strange array of items from her. Most noteworthy among the brickabrac, she left me almost all of her photo albums and all of the things associated with her late father and his Korean war service. I figure she left those things to me in order to protect them. Her ex-husband wouldn't value them; this way, if her son and daughter are interested when they come of age, they can contact me to learn about their mother and grandfather. Some of her journals I burned after I read them to protect her memory. Many of her belongings went to goodwill. The rest are in boxes on shelves in my garage until her children are adults and can decide what to do with it for themselves.
When my parents moved out of their house in February of this year, they took advantage of the opportunity to pare down belongings. One thing my dad gave me was his racquetball keeper which keeps the balls bouncy because I'm the only child who plays that sport. In tradition of his father, there are two balls inside, and I'll find out just how long they can last in this circumstance.
When I die, most of my scrimshaw faces an uncertain fate. The bookshelf in the living room is festooned with what appear to be random items- pins, coins, rocks, bones, etc., all of which have symbolic meaning to me. Assuming I ever have my own kids, some of those items may pass to them and retain their meaning. Most of it will probably end up at goodwill or in the landfill. Nobody will want to keep the lone shoe, but the Jefferson Dollar coin will still be worth $1, so someone will probably want it to spend.
Centuries from now, most people won't remember who you are, what you did, or how much stuff you accumulated. It's just stuff. What you really leave behind is your family. As previously written, I feel blessed to come from a good family. While we have some problems and some bad apples, I am glad to be part of a good family, good stock, a good gene pool, good faith, and good traditions. I guess that's one main reason I would like a family, to pass on what I learned, what I have, and what I am like they did for me. Nobody will probably want my sporting goods or camping gear, but someone may want the books or tools or photographs. Maybe not. That's why I write this. You should either do something worth writing or write something worth reading. So, sometimes, I let things go for weeks until I really have something to say, something i haven't said already, something worthy of being read. That way, when you come, my time makes your time more valuable. I like being able to remember the good people in my life. I keep these things because I want to remember a life that was worth remembering to me.
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