More than a memory.

The valentines card made by my daughter just weeks before my mother died is just another in a long stream of precious artifacts. Since my father’s passing in September, our family has painstakingly sifted through over a century of memories. My parents bought their house in the 1960’s, and ever since have collected treasures from our family. As the older generations of grandparents, aunts, and uncles passed away, my parent’s three story barn became an archive of memories.

I never understood why the older generations kept every little piece of their life, but now, I am grateful for their ways. Letters from my uncle who stormed the beaches of Normandy, my great-great grandfather’s civil war medal, and a beautiful wedding dress worn by someone that I’ll never know.

Unfortunately, my generation has gone to the extreme. I have not printed a photo in years, tossed my yearbooks as useless clutter, and failed to save almost everything from my childhood. My kids and grandkids will never know what meant the most to me over the years.

Here’s to a future made of a happy middle between packrat and minimalist!

 

 

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