They're Just Things

We were cleaning out some stuff from my dad's garage the other day when my sister-in-law said, "This is exactly what you don't want to do to your kids."  My dad was the most resourceful person I've ever known, but part of that superpower came from never throwing anything away. Pieces of pipe, drawer handles, string, rug scraps, dowels of every shape and length, buckets, jugs, cartons, plastic edging, eroding lawn chairs, and don't get me started on nails and screws. They're all there in living color. We took three truckloads to the incinerator, but there's still a whole lot more to go. At least we cleared out most of the stuff in the camper over the last few years. At one point, Mom had it filled literally full of blankets, gallon milk jugs, stuffed animals, toys, and coolers. It's only one little corner, but at this point, even small dents count.

There have been fun moments though, like when Alan handed me a wee oil can to go with my rusty tinman.

Finding our baby books was especially sweet, although I've since misplaced them, so I hope to find them a second sweet time. Going through vinyl LP's with Terry was a hoot. Trudy volunteered to go through the pictures and organize them by family. I don't think she expected that we'd keep finding album after album.

The business of disbursing Dad's belongings has gone really well so far. If there's been something both Alan and Kev wanted, Kev always defers to Alan. As far as I know, everyone has gotten whatever was requested and there have been no hurt feelings. The kids haven't asked for much. Ryan wanted a tool, Jylle some kitchenware, and Brett has a brief list. Only two of Alan's girls wanted things, and everyone was in agreement. I know it's not always as great as this, so I am thrilled. Both Brett and Jylle said they were able to have a relationship with my folks like Alan's girls couldn't, and they count that as absolutely priceless. If my kids got nothing, they wouldn't bat an eye. In the end, they're just things.

In processing the loss of my parents, I can rejoice in the fact that nothing went unsaid. Saying "I love you" with hugs and smiles galore happened every time we were together. It was a running joke that we had to start leaving at least 30 minutes before we actually needed to in order to leave on time because of all the last minute gifts and affection. We encountered it every single time. The hospice pastor told us what an extraordinary treasure we have in having heard those three little words from both our mother and father. It can leave such a raw, gaping hole in someone's heart when that was never experienced. A miracle in itself, given that neither of my folks ever heard them from their own parents. It was my dad who taught me to say "I love you." I would say it to my mom, but not to him. I was about nine when he said those words to me one time. He hugged me, and he said, "Now you say it to me." I have no idea what my problem was, but I felt so uncomfortable. He urged me again, so I finally said it. He hugged me again and said, "I love you too." I still remember thinking That wasn't so bad!  Odd child.

We do have a lot of stuff to sort through, but how blessed to know it's the unimportant, tangible stuff. The "things". The gold and precious gems stored up in my heart would make a dragon jealous. They are the legacy my parents left me. Two hearts that were totally for me, who knew in their untaught deeps what the true treasures of life really are. The "realest" things.