My Materialistic Memories

I can still remember visiting my Great-Grandpa Gogarn in Hospice House. I can hear his voice, see the layout of his room, and remember the view out of his window. That was about 20 years ago.

Since then, his wife, my Great-Grandma/Grandma Gogarn, whom I fondly call GG, has been alone. She has been living in a retirement home, on her own, for the past 20 years.

About a month ago, she had a bad fall that resulted in my family deciding it was time to move her out of that apartment and into somewhere where she can receive care better suited for her age.... 102.... and a half. Part of that transition means downsizing. Her new housing provides furniture, so she was unable to take hers with her. Her dwindling health was good reason to take fewer things with her, as she is now far less independent. During this moving process, I was offered her desk, and then a dresser, a bed, and then a couch... Finally, I asked "Is no one else taking anything?" The answer was no. One daughter, three grandchildren, six great grandchildren, and two great-great grandchildren, no one wanted anything. Over 100 years of things, and no one wanted anything. Maybe that's an exaggeration or maybe there's more to the story. Surely, as her daughter (my grandma) is turning 80, she has a full house of her own things. Two of her grandchildren live out of state which makes it hard and three of her great grandchildren are married with their own homes as well. But still... No one one wanted anything?

I hung up the phone in tears. My husband didn't understand why I was so upset and at first I didn't either. But then, it hit me... Could you imagine that you (and your spouse, if you have one) are killed in some sort of accident - both of you are gone. And someone (your parents, your in-laws, your children) come into your home, look at all of your belongings, turn up their nose and say "no thank you". "No thank you" to the couch they spent hours sitting on while visiting you. "No thank you" to the candy dish that was always fully stocked with chocolate. "No thank you" to the things that filled your life and your home with love and happiness.

So, the very next day I could, I drove up to GG's apartment and filled my car with as many things as I could. So much of it had already been sorted into donation piles and other things had already been thrown away. But, anything that would fit, I took. I wanted the opportunity to see everything, touch it, focus on it. See the things that after 102 years she still thought were worth keeping. I wanted the opportunity to take as much as I wanted. There were a few things that I did donate, but only after I got to see them and look at them, imagining them in my GG's home and seeing if they had a place in mine.

I get that maybe some of you might find me materialistic. But I don't think that's it. It's not having "things" that makes me happy, but the memory associated with those things. I want to smile when I serve pickles in the same pickle dish that my great grandparents did every year for holidays. I want to walk through my house at Christmastime and see the same decorations I grew up admiring at my grandparent's house. I want to take my earrings out at night and place them in the same jewelry dish that my great grandma took out hers and set them in.

When I leave this world, I want someone who knew me and loved me to look at the things that I spent time hand-selecting and think "this reminds me of her" and thinking that makes them want to keep it. I want them to look at the painting in my living room and see the note on the back saying it was the first real piece of art I ever bought for myself. I want them to look at my stuffed bear from Dave & Buster's and instead of seeing just a silly bear, know that I won it when I kicked my husband's butt at all the arcade games while celebrating his 30th birthday in Philadelphia. I want them to see the papasan chair in my sun porch and know that I got it from my Aunt and that it's the same one that I grew up sleeping in when visiting my cousins. I want someone to look at my things and smile to themselves at the memories, knowing that these things meant something to me and therefore these things mean something to them. I mean, after all, once you're gone, isn't that all that's left? The stuff and the memories - and I want to fill my life with both of them.