A life time ago, I was young and in love. Those feelings I eventually gave away too. But the owner of this box kept adding to it with the loss of each female relative. And then decades passed, these “jewels” were eventually left to me, and ended up with assorted other bits of history that had no story. Glassy, audacious, sparkly, set in garish ornate, old-fashioned brooches and hat-pins. They sat in the equally absurd bronze stained wooden box at the back of my closet, ignored.
The more I’ve read however of cleaning out our loved one’s closets made me consider my own mortality. How could I leave all this stuff for my own children to sift through? How could I leave them with all my junk, incomplete projects, scribbles in notebooks, scraps of fabric and this box of jewelry. How would they know what was important to me and not just filling up my spaces, preventing me from discovering myself. (Tweet This)
You might think, ohmygoodness, but she’s old, surely she should know who she is by now? But guess what, you are ALWAYS learning and growing. I am not the person I was last year, or last week. I have learned and lost and shared and grown some more. And in that passage of time, I’ve discovered that “things” have lesser meaning, because I will leave this world alone without any of my favourite toys. And those who know me best will get to choose which leftover piece of my heart has any value to them. (Tweet This)
And that is why, I have worn the (less!) ugly brooches on my jean jacket, or taken some apart to hang on a chain, have used another to decorate a gift, and given many away. The monetary value might be a little or a lot, I do not know.
But I like to think that each trinket will arrive on the doorstop of someone who will appreciate its uniqueness. And the story they tell of how it reached them is really none of my business.
Because we all leave this world alone without any of our favourite toys. (Tweet This)