On Stuff

G didn't care a lot about stuff. Didn't need a nice car or a big home. Preferred a worn-in t-shirt and a dinged up table. Through his stuff around and let it get marked up, banged up, scratched up.

He did care about some things: his books (though he dog-eared them all the way down to the sentence he liked) and his computer (though he let P use it). But he was a lot more free with things than me.

Looking around our home lately, I've been thinking that he may have been right after all. His stuff is still here.

To us, these things are precious. Because they are his. "Daddy's chair", "Daddy's water bottle", "Daddy shirt". I've held on to his slippers and backpack and favorite cup. I've made blankets from his iconic t-shirts and bandanas. I sleep in his t-shirt and wear his sweatshirt almost every day. P sleeps with "Daddy shirts", the "Daddy pillow" and even now has "Daddy's fire socks" on the posts of his bed.

G's stuff is really all we have left of him. The only tangible things that we can see and touch and hold and remember. The signs that he really was here. The constant reminders that our family was once a family of 3.

But for him? Well the cliche is true: we can't take anything with us. It has all outlasted him. Every single thing he ever possessed - except for the clothes he was buried in - was lost to him on the day he died. His book collection, game collection, favorite shirts. The chair he preferred, the cup he drank from each day. None of it mattered in the end.

He was right to enjoy things but not to hold onto them. Because in the end he couldn't.

And what will happen to his stuff now?

Already some has been given away. A little bit to family, a little bit to charity. Someone else is driving his car. Someone else is wearing his pants. One day someone else will be reading his books and the chair he loved so much will be in a landfill.

Right now, the someone else is often family and so it matters. These things seem precious because they are being used by people that he loved and who loved him. But that won't always be the case. Eventually the chair will just be a chair - or trash. The books will just be used books that someone finds in a thrift store.

The stuff has outlasted the man. Someday it will outlast the ones who loved him. And eventually it will all be destroyed.

So life can't be about stuff. But also, stuff matters when you loved the one who owned it. It is a link for a time of what has been lost.

I'm wondering how to live in light of this. Knowing that stuff matters to an extent, but not ultimately. Knowing that the little things matter more than the big. The favorite books have been kept but the car is gone. And none of it matters to him.

Maybe I enjoy what I have but I don't seek to accumulate more. Maybe I tenderly care for the bit that may be treasured by my son if I die but realize that the vast majority will be disposed of. Maybe I enjoy things for what they are but live for something else - for Someone else.

And he said to them, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” - Luke 12:15