Over the course of our lives we acquire things. Some have a practical purpose, like cars and clothes–we keep them until they wear out, are outgrown, or go out of style and then they are replaced. Some things we keep for reference and they may be regularly updated (like insurance papers), occasionally purged (like tax records), or remain with us for a lifetime (like a favorite recipe). And some things have a sentimental value, a personal meaning, a story attached to them that no one else knows unless we tell them.

Sometimes the lines between the categories gets a little blurred. We all have a favorite article of clothing that we just can’t get rid of–even if it doesn’t fit or is threadbare–because it represents some part of us, be it a dream or a memory, that we can’t let go. I have a dozen single earrings in my jewelry box that all remind me of special places or people. I can’t wear them; I should repurpose them into necklaces or charms. To me they are treasures, but to anyone else, they are trash.

When dealing with our elderly parents, the definition of trash or treasure can cause conflicts. Two examples from my life. The first was something very practical: a car. My father bought a Ford Explorer just before he was diagnosed with cancer. It was the last car he ever bought. My mother would not sell the car; she would not give it to a family member. She poured money into keeping it running long after my father would have traded it in. It had over 300,000 miles on it when the family finally took the keys from her in a very emotional confrontation. For her it no longer served the practical purpose of getting from point A to point B, but was a symbol of my father. She drove him to and from treatments in that car. They spent long hours on the road and had many conversations during that time. Her memories of his final days were tied to that car.

The second example is from a conflict between my mother and sister. My mother claimed my sister didn’t have a sentimental bone in her body and my sister claimed mom cared for things with no value. Neither was true–but they valued different things. Mom would save cards and letters written by her grandchildren because she valued personal expressions of love. To my sister they were just paper. My sister salvaged and restored our grandmother’s washstand because she values historical objects. To my mom it no longer had a practical purpose and was left to rot.

So now I am faced not only with my own stuff that carries memories for me, but with my mother’s stuff that carried memories for her. It is a difficult task to decide what to keep and what I can safely throw away. What items carry stories that should be passed on? And who determines that? This is a topic I will be coming back to a lot in the coming months as I work through her things.

Any suggestions? How have you managed your stuff or your loved ones’ stuff?

Two years ago my mother was diagnosed with dementia. She had been losing her memory for a while, but we thought it was related to head trauma received in a car accident. But this was different. They didn’t call it Alzheimer’s, but it had the same effect. It was the beginning of the end of the mother I had known and loved.

Losing a parent piece by piece, memory by memory is a painful process. I wanted to capture everyone’s memories of her, but couldn’t bring myself to ask people to share. I tried to go through her genealogy and family history documents, to carry on her work, but it was too emotionally draining. Most of the time I ended up crying.

Mom was the family historian, the storykeeper. She knew the people in the photos, but never labeled them. She remembered the stories about aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents; but she didn’t write them down.

So now I’m picking up the mantle. This blog will chronicle my journey to discover and capture the family stories. It will document the frustrations, the lessons learned, and hopefully some great discoveries. I hope that I will be able to pass on some wisdom gleaned from my ancestors and from the process of learning about them.

I hope you will be able to relate to my adventure, be willing to comment from time to time, and consider sharing your own experiences that can help me and others like me.