It's Only Stuff

There have been times in my life when I have felt ruthless about getting rid of “stuff” in my life. And as I've been reflecting on that I have come to the conclusion that it is never easy to get rid of stuff – be it your own or someone else’s.

A few years ago, I spent part of our vacation helping relatives clean out their parents’ home. It was a difficult time for them. The house had been in the family for more than 80 years. Although these were two adult women, who lived hundreds of miles away, this house had been “home” to them for a lifetime.

Now, there would be no more to come home to. They had to take back some remnant, to their own home, to remind them of what used to be.

It was interesting to see what they took. Things I would not value – things that I would personally find it easy to be ruthless with – were those things they prized most highly.

A battered soup ladle. Pieces of fabric. A sofa pillow. Hand-crafted tools. These are the things that reminded them of home, and these are what they want to take back, and remember and share the special meanings these items represent to them.

A U-Haul, a station wagon, a truck and a sedan, all jam-packed with memories, left "home" one day, while some of the memories were left behind.

I’m wondering how much soup is being made and served with that ladle these days. I hope that old ladle will see a few more kettles of soup in its lifetime, hopefully with plenty of family and friends surrounding the table.

Once upon a time, a friend experienced the near-tragedy of a house fire. I say a near-tragedy because the entire family, including pets, escaped safely. But the “stuff” that meant a great deal to them no longer exists. 

I have often thought, in moods where I am totally disgusted with the condition of my house, that it would be tempting to burn it down and start over. I don’t think I’ll say that any more, not even to myself. A morning of sifting through the ashes and the soot completely changed my outlook.

It’s easy to laugh as you toss out a Sam's Club-sized roll of 100 plastic trash bags that is reduced to the size of a soup can. But discarding cherished possessions, like what’s left of a little girl’s china doll collection, isn’t so simple. Instead of laughter, it puts a lump in your throat.

Of course, my friend claimed, “It’s only stuff…” but it was their stuff. Like the battered soup ladle or the hand crafted tools, "stuff" is what their memories are made of. And suddenly, a lot of that stuff was gone.

One piece out of an entire set of her grandmother’s china survived the blaze. But nothing was left of her daughter’s wedding dress, hanging in the bedroom closet. A beautiful home, which the entire family participated in building from the ground up, was reduced to soggy carpeting, blackened stud walls and melted vinyl siding.

When something like this happens, you know you are lucky to be spared. But that doesn’t stop the grieving for what used to be.

My mother is downsizing from her home of 35 years to a small apartment. Piece by piece, she is sorting through her belongings. Often she finds things that once meant a lot to her. Some of it she can part with. Other things she can't. Occasionally, she will hand me a bag of things as I leave her house. 

"Take it home and go through it. Throw away what you don't want," she says. "But I can't throw it away myself." 

Sometimes, I see an item that sparks a memory. I ask if I can take it home.

"You don't want that old pitcher," she says. "It's chipped." 

She's right that I probably won't use it all that often. But when I see it on the shelf, with the chips strategically hidden from view, I will remember that nearly every glass of milk I drank when I was growing up was poured out of that pitcher. And I will remember the hands that poured the milk, and the love that surrounded our family back in a time when life was much simpler. 

Yes, as I contemplate all the stuff I'm bringing home from mom's house, I realize each item will mean something else probably has to leave my house. I only have limited space, after all. But sometimes you have to make these kinds of choices.

Ultimately, all of these situations bring us face to face with the fact that the stuff of life that really is most important is the relationships we take with us. There may be some tangible things that represent those relationships – our grandmother’s china or the family bible or the pictures of the kids – but what is really important is the people.

“People before things” – it’s a motto I have held before myself often over the years. But it takes a loss of those things to make one realize how true that really is. It encourages me to reevaluate what is really important to me. What do I really need, and what would I do if I actually lost it?

When the stuff is gone, that’s what we have left – the relationships. So I need to remember to take care of those aspects of my life before I start worrying about all the “stuff.”