Just Stuff

My grandmother was a pack rat. She kept everything. It was one of those endearing qualities that would drive you crazy at times, and make you love her all the more at other times.

When I was young and would spend the night with her, one of my favorite things to do was to go into one of her back bedrooms, and just be nosy for a little while. I never knew what I would come across. It might be my dad's 8th grade report card, a picture of my grandfather, a magazine from the 70s or a card I made her in Kindergarten.

It was akin to a treasure trove.

When she died a couple of months ago, the entire family knew it would be a chore to go through her house. We knew there would be a lot of useless stuff. We knew we would be amazed at what we found.

Secretly, I had visions of my parents, sisters and I going through the rooms and laughing at the memories her stuff would bring. I wanted to ask my dad about some of the pictures I knew she had. I wanted to show Maddie what her great grandfather looked like. I wanted to find the dozens of handmade cards from all of her grandchildren and put them in little piles for my cousins to keep.

I'm afraid none of that will ever happen.

Her house caught on fire and burned to the ground this morning.

I understand that it was just stuff. And I'm eternally grateful that no one was injured and that it didn't happen when she was alive because it would have devastated her. But, it was her stuff.

And now, it's as gone as she is.