Our neighbor unexpectedly passed away last week and today they pulled everything from her house and sold it. The entire contents of her life. All of her worldly possessions. On display. Sold. Forgotten. Everything she collected, all of the sentimental pieces no one else knew about. Cards she meant to send. Things she had owned for decades. Thats how it all ended up. Thrown around the yard so that strangers could pick through it to see if any of it had any worth in their own life. 25 cents for a picture frame that had been her mothers. She never could bring herself to throw it away. 5 cents for an old stuffed animal that her grandson brought to her when she had a cold in 1995. The fact that he decided on his own to forfeit something of his own for her comfort meant so much to her. 1 dollar for a set of dishes that held no significance to her, except they were her exact favorite color of blue. Stories well never know. All of the things she held onto for a reason laid out for a group of people on a normal, random day to touch and lay aside and possibly buy. People who sneeze at the dust that is unsettled as they move things to find something better. It really affected me. I kept opening the curtain to look at the piles and the people. Nothing wrong with it. A normal occurrence after a death. I dont have anything significant or spiritual to say about it. It just made me think. About her. About her stuff. About me. About my stuff.
Posted on: Sat, 25 Oct 2014 19:20:07 +0000
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