Tangible

 I have written about my stuff. What I mean is those material things that I value. Artifacts, antiques, mementos, souvenirs, bric-a-brac, tools, and some just plain old junk. I started to catalogue all of that at one time with the thought of explaining what it all is. My thought was that it would assign a value to it. What I really was trying to do was have others recognize the value I assigned. I have since come to realize that isn't going to happen. Whatever value lies in those things will be assigned by the one possessing them. That is the reality. I do not own anything of universal value. That is to say, no paintings, no jewels, no antiques, nothing of great resale value. Still, I do own some things that are priceless. That is the value assigned by me. 

 This may seem like an obvious thing to you but arrived as a bit of a revelation to me. I believe that is because of the way I was raised. There were always treasured items around my home growing up. This belonged to grandma and that belonged to grandpa. This was from Uncle Fred or that once belonged to an old friend. There was never an item that was considered valuable in a monetary sense. But I learned that those items were irreplaceable. All of those things were memories. You can't replace a memory. You can create a new one, but you can't replace an old one. Those things held that memory. I learned that is only true when the memory is shared. It is the sharing that imparts value. Sharing creates an awareness. It also creates a curiosity. What ensures the survival of a memory? That is a question I struggle to answer. Can we ever be certain of that? That is central to the idea of life after death, to religious belief, to the hope that life does not end but continues on. As long as our memories survive so shall we. Often expressed as, as long as our name is spoken, we are not forgotten. Memories are life.

 When I began to catalogue my stuff, to write a small passage of explanation, the hope was to satisfy a curiosity. I thought perhaps by satisfying that curiosity the value would be increased. If you know what it is, you won't discard it. That's the thought. I was trying to tell the story of the object, to give that object life so to speak. But now I realize I can't do that; I don't have that power. That is left to whomever inherits my stuff. The best I can do is share and hope for the best. The ultimate fate of my memories resides with others. That has arrived as a sort of epiphany. I wouldn't call it life changing, earth shattering or anything like that but a sudden realization certainly. Although I think more properly it is the acceptance of that, that is the epiphany. 

 In the meantime, I should simply enjoy my memories and not concern myself with what will become of them. I have no control over that. It's a strange feeling though. I feel an obligation to those memories, especially memories I became entrusted with. I don't feel such an attachment to my own memories. I have complete control over those. I do feel obligated to somehow preserve the memories that came before me. A debt to be satisfied. Tangible memories? Yes, I think that is what those objects are. Thing is, will they touch another when you are gone?  I sure hope they do. To be remembered, to be cherished. That happens to the living, not the dead.