Don’t get me wrong, I love my stuff. But it’s just stuff. I keep the pictures so when I’m old and grey and can’t remember faces, I’ll know what my children, friends, family looked like. But they are just pictures. For now, the images of their faces are etched into my memory, and that’s all I need. Even my mother, beautiful and regal, crude with the mouth of a sailor…a study of contradictions, a seemingly simple yet very complex woman. It’s been over ten years since I last laid eyes on her. And I remember every laugh line. She loved to laugh.
Sorry, getting all mushy…
The point is, the people are important. Not the things. Never forget that. I would trade a million pictures of my mother, every single thing I own, every cent I had to have one more day with her. To sit down now, the person I’ve become, with her and a bottle of wine. Value those you hold dear, and even the ones you don’t. They’ve helped mold you into who you are, and they are gone all too soon.