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[dr_dre]

Yet another blurb for the perniciousness of drug use.

The point of the story was that all this stuff we fret over really doesn't matter in the end. We pass, folks mourn, they try to cope, they rifle through our things and take a guess at what we wanted, and then they go on with their lives. The legacy we leave has little to do with the mechanics of our passing, or the weird boxes of stuff we leave behind, which inevitably perplex those who find them, or even the things we say when we are old, or sick, and no longer coherent. Ten years out, that stuff has faded and what I remember clearly was the way my mother lived her life.

[kedves]

Dr Dre, I liked the story, especially the tattoo, ceremony, and final line.  It's perfect.  If things have meaning to us, the meanings are in us, not in the things.

I save very little of my own things, but I think this is a habit from childhood more than a plan.  I have a quantity of objects in which my memories are embedded, photographs and letters, that I can not bear to look at but would never throw away.  I don't display personal photographs.  Other things have less emotional content.  I am grateful for family heirlooms but have sold some of them. 

As to the idea posed in the original post, I suspect that most people fear dying more than they fear death itself. 

[prytania3]

Now I'm worried about Ablewasi...

[ablewasi]

Now I'm worried about Ablewasi...

Ablewasi, any particular reason you're feeling introspective?  You seem a bit melancholy.

Sorry.  My internet connection fritzed last night.  Maybe a message not to start threads.

Actually, I wasn't melancholic at all.  I was re-watching Kurosawa's  "Throne of Blood".  Powerful themes of pride, ambition and mortality.

!a

[goldenapple]

In my husband's family, whenever some older fellow starts to brag a little bit about the value and provenance of a purchase he's made -- a really nice piece of furniture, a bronze statue of a cowboy, that sort of thing -- the standard response from the fellow's adult children is: "We'll be sure to tell the auctioneer!"

Because in fact, everyone in their ranching-and-farming community has been to auctions where someone's vast collection of prized junk was sold for a pittance. There was even one fellow who used to make a habit of buying the stuff left over at the end of the auction -- the stuff nobody else wanted. He died last year, and there it all was at the auction again. The same stuff you'd rejected 10 years ago, saved in Eddie's barn for all those years and just as worthless as ever. Well, worthless to everybody but Eddie, and now he's gone.

[magistra]

Conjugate -- many thanks for the s'mores.  I'll take a gin and tonic, too.  A worthy beverage.

GA -- a good lesson.  How much stuff do we have that's crap, but means quite a lot to us?  It's not the object itself, it's the memory of how or where we got it, or the person who gave it to us, or what it represents. 

My grandmother's very old and ill, and often mentally confused.  Ten years ago she had a huge house filled with memories -- photos, furniture, things of her children.  Then she had to move to a smaller house, then an apartment, then assisted living, and now she's in a nursing home, where she space for virtually no personal items.  My mother has a few things (which she doesn't want, but can't get rid of), but mostly, it's all gone, and grandma isn't even dead yet.   I don't know whether it's better or worse that she doesn't know or care anymore.  Even when she moved out of the house, the things she chose to keep and get rid of made no sense -- her mind was going, and value -- monetary or sentimental -- were already of lessening consequence.

[conjugate]

Of course, when you die, there are often lots of other problems for the survivors to take care of.  When my mother had to be put in a nursing home a few years back, we had an estate sale ran by a little old lady who, frankly, did not do the best job for us.  Then we ran another estate sale of our own because we felt we needed to get rid of all the crap that hadn't sold before.  Then we went and gave things to people, donated things to the Salvation Army thrift store until they told us they were full up, and so on.

Now, if we'd had the time and patience, we could probably have eBayed or otherwise disposed of these things to people who would be excited by them.  My mother had some of her mother's old phonograph records; they had Thomas Edison's picture on the label, and dated from almost a hundred years ago.  They went to the thrift store.  My Hot Wheels collection went for a few dollars for the whole thing (the auction lady apologized for that, but the apology did no good after somebody took a box of assorted plastic junk for $5 with all the 1960s Hot Wheels cars, etc. in the bottom).  I don't go look up how much they could have been sold for if I'd had the time and energy to eBay them to collectors, because I don't want to know. 

There are lots of examples like this of things that could have been valuable if we'd had time and storage space.  But in the end, I have to say maybe it's better to get it over with and get on with life.  Some other soul will have the experience of a find of a lifetime, and I wish them joy of it.  I have enough problems of my own.

My grandmother's very old and ill, and often mentally confused.  Ten years ago she had a huge house filled with memories -- photos, furniture, things of her children.  Then she had to move to a smaller house, then an apartment, then assisted living, and now she's in a nursing home, where she space for virtually no personal items.  My mother has a few things (which she doesn't want, but can't get rid of), but mostly, it's all gone, and grandma isn't even dead yet.   I don't know whether it's better or worse that she doesn't know or care anymore.  Even when she moved out of the house, the things she chose to keep and get rid of made no sense -- her mind was going, and value -- monetary or sentimental -- were already of lessening consequence.

Yes, I think it's better that she doesn't know.  She will find peace of a sort as she declines, just as my mother has.  I empathize and hope your family deals with this as best as it can.

[magistra]

Besides, she hates the food where she is and only eats chocolate ice cream and caramels.  This may sound small, but it's a measure of independence and happiness.  She quite literally doesn't need to worry about what she eats anymore, so she does as she pleases.

She's also missing a lot of bad thoughts and memories.  Because of her condition, we haven't told her her daughter died (not that she'd remember, or even truly comprehend it most days.)  I suspect it's quite a blessing.  She's got her family; that's more important.

You're right about the stuff, too.  It is just as well to be rid of it and move on.  We have a shocking amount of stuff in our lives anymore.