When we cleaned out my mom’s house two years ago, we discovered a trove of letters that my dad wrote to her during WWII. We knew that they had carried on their courtship via letters during the war, but we knew little about their lives then. Mom would talk a little about her work during that time; Dad shared almost nothing about the war.

My sister took the letters to the archivist at the museum where she volunteers to find out how best to scan and preserve them. Her plan was to scan the letters and give a copy to all of us. But as so often happens, life gets in the way and the scanning project hasn’t happened yet. But this weekend I had the opportunity while visiting to read some of the letters.

I was only able to read about half, but I was by turns surprised and moved by what I read. I learned things about him I didn’t know and discovered where certain things I did know had their beginnings. As their child, whether young or grown, you don’t really know your parents’ relationship. You observe how they treat each other, maybe hear a few stories about their younger days or the good and bad times in their marriage, but you don’t know what was in their hearts or minds. These letters opened a window on my parents that was amazing. It shed light on aspects of their relationship that always puzzled me.

I was able to see in my Dad’s descriptions of what he loved most about my mother–her eyes that lit with laughter or devilment, her stubbornness, her willingness to take his teasing and give back her own–the aspects of her personality that we didn’t always appreciate as her children. And Dad’s stubbornness, teasing, and love of a good debate were on bold display in these letters. They were personality traits that when combined often caused discord in the family and we kids had to deal with the fallout.

I also got to see my father as a teenager–and saw myself and my oldest son reflected in his words. I could almost hear my son’s voice as I read the letters. And the cockiness, self-assurance, and bravado are all reflected in my journals at that age. I wonder if Dad would feel as embarrassed rereading his words in these letters as I do when I reread my journals from when I was 18-19 years old.

I wish I had been able to read everything during my visit, but there just wasn’t time. I got my sister fired up about the project again though. My sister said, “This is the best thing Dad left to us.” And because Mom kept them for all these years, it may be the best thing she leaves us as well.

What are you going to leave your children as a legacy?

I have a lot of stuff. I’m sure that you do, too. It seems to be a disease of our materialistic culture. I have items I have collected from trips, cards I have received, gifts given to me by family, drawings and stories from my children when they were young, and a multitude of other items that have some memory attached to them. And then there are the items from my mother, or my mother-in-law.

I can’t keep it all. But how do I decide what stays and what goes? Fortunately a museum studies course gave me a way to think about it.

Museums have a lot of stuff, too; they are called “the collection,” and they are the heart of the museum. But not every object in a museum is part of “the collection.” To become part of the collection an object must be accessioned. This means that it is catalogued, insured, and carefully displayed or stored. It is now a prized possession and the museum has a responsibility to care for and properly maintain it. If the museum wants to dispose of it, it must go through a deaccessioning process.

If an object does not fit within the mission of the museum, it is not accepted into the collection. If it is not valuable, unique, or rare it is not accepted into the collection. Not every object in a museum is part of the collection. For example, some objects on display in an historic house museum may be replicas of real pieces held by other museums or of common items that would have been in use in the time period. If they are damaged or no longer useful, it is not a problem for the museum to let them go. A museum only wants to be responsible for those items that are core to their being.

I need to adopt the mindset of a museum curator and think of my stuff as a future museum collection. I should only “accession” those items that are core to my being; that carry stories that need to be passed on from generation to generation. They have to be items that I am willing to care for and properly display or store. Tossing them into a Rubbermaid tote in the basement or attic does not count.

I also can’t be afraid of deaccessioning items. I remember a lecture given by a curator of a new historic house museum; she threw out hundreds of coat hangers that had been stored in the attic. How many hangers made in the early 1900s did the museum really need to tell their story? Clothes that were moldy or rotted went in the dumpster. They would have been valuable if they had been in good condition, but lack of care destroyed their worth. If I can’t care for an item properly, I might as well get rid of it now. Sitting in a Rubbermaid tote for years will not keep it in good condition.

So that’s going to be how I decide what to keep:
1. Does it tell a story that is core to our family and needs to be passed on?
2. Can I display or store it properly?

What about you? What are your guiding questions as to what to keep?

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.