Today, an estate sale took place at the house next door to where my parents live. Irene used to live there. She recently died from a blood clot during a surgery. Robert, her husband, had died some years back. The doors opened at 9am, and an incredible amount of people rushed in to find great deals on some sweet items.

Aside from a few books and old records, I took this thought away from the sale this morning: Someday, all of my stuff is going to be sold off to deal-hungry treasure-hunters. Or it will sit there and rot. I’m not going to take any of it with me. This is an obvious truth, yet that’s not how I tend to think from day to day. I thought of Robert and Irene. If they could see their home, full of their things that took a lifetime to acquire, being raided by a bunch of strangers, how might they feel.