Listen to Their Stories Now
A friend of mine conducts estate sales and I find his work to be fascinating. When he posts photos of an upcoming sale, I make a point to peruse them. At first I did so because I thought there might be something I want or need, but this ritual has morphed into another, deeper sort of experience.
Generally, my friend helps families by liquidating the unwanted belongings of deceased parents or other family members. The family has usually taken the “good stuff” but I find what is left to be quite interesting.
The stuff that families tend not to take and what shows up in these sales are things like outdated furniture, cheap jewelry collections, and household items. Because most of the deceased are elderly and from a time when “homesteading” was not a trend but a way of life, I see a lot of sewing machines, handmade crafts, and woodworking tools in these sales.
The preferred colors, patterns, and styles of the previous owners is often consistent throughout the sale items. As I scan these material remnants of the undoubtedly beloved family members, I sometimes imagine their kids and grandkids playing on the furniture, with laughter wafting through the house as messes are being made on a beloved rug.
Even though I have never met the families involved in these sales, my heart goes out to them. I remember sorting through my mom’s house after she died, noting so many things that were important to her but now held little meaning to the rest of us. The pit in my stomach came when I realized that I’d never see my mom use this pot again or sew another dress on that machine or sit on that sofa.
Life is extremely short, even at its longest, and estate sales remind me of how few opportunities we have in this life to connect with our loved ones. That’s even more true in today’s global society, where we can move across the country as easily as we used to travel to a town in the next county.
Seeing other people’s leftover stuff makes me ponder my own. As I view my own overflowing closets and boxes full of who-knows-what in the garage, I wonder what those I leave behind will imagine about my belongings before they discard them.
Will my family and friends look affectionately at my Native American flute collection, perhaps even picking one up to give it a try, or will they be puzzled as to what draw these flutes had for me? Will my stacks of books about happiness, death, and public speaking amuse or annoy them? Will they wonder why my collection of sheet music is larger than my jewelry collection?
Or worse, will those who are tasked with liquidating my remaining assets hire someone like my friend to deal with all of it, not even taking the time to investigate whether my strange belongings have any meaning beyond the garbage dump?
Estate sales are a stark reminder that stuff has no value at all except what we put to it. My flutes are my friends, but they mean nothing to most of the people who love me. Perhaps my grandson Hunter will be curious about my musical theater sheet music after I’m dead, but I’m not holding my breath about that. ;) My non-fiction tomes made me who I am today, but, so far, no one has instructed me to leave my books about death and dying to them in my will.1
Even though stuff has no meaning except what we put to it, the meaning behind the stuff does matter. When I packed up my mom’s boxes of fabric and thread after her death, I remembered with joy the way she created beautiful garments from fabric that others would have thrown away. (And actually did throw away… my mom’s biggest stash of fabric at her death came from a sewing customer who gifted her the stash from her own mom’s estate.)
What stories do the stuff our loved ones choose to keep tell us about them?
My mom saved everything, including empty egg cartons. I don’t know why, but my mom was a creative person and I’m guessing that she had ideas for using those egg cartons. She simply died before she could implement her ideas. I wish I had asked when she was alive what she might want to use those egg cartons for.2
The next time you visit family or a friend, ask them about their stuff. Ask them especially about the stuff that is in their private spaces. The stuff in the common areas is the stuff they expect guests to see, but the stuff in their bedroom, office, or creative space is where some of their most interesting stories can be unearthed.
Why that book? Why that odd-looking toy? Why do they still own that pin, hat, or shirt from a conference they attended decades ago?
If you’re close enough to them, ask your loved ones and/or friends to share with you some of their most prized or oddest possessions. Have them tell you why they own it or what story the item triggers in their mind.
Some stuff is just stuff. But often the stuff has a deeper meaning. When we die — unless we’ve told someone about it — the stories disappear at the estate sale. Take time to listen to your loved ones’ stories now, before they disappear forever.
But wouldn’t that be the best gift of all? To bequeath books about how to deal with grief to my grieving family and/or friends seems a bit meta, but also somehow very appropriate. ;)
When I was a kid, we used empty egg cartons for crafts, especially at Sunday School and Vacation Bible School. I suspect that my mom, even though she had long since stopped teaching kids at church, still thought about the kids at church and saving those egg cartons was an act of joyful expectation about how she might integrate them into childhood crafts again someday.