Stuff? Or a Life Well Lived?

There is something about an estate sale that stops me in my tracks every single time.

We’ve lived in our house for six and a half years. The elderly couple across the street had lived in theirs for over 40 years. Original owners. The wife had been ill the entire time we’ve known them. The husband was still getting around pretty well, and he and my husband would stand outside talking because they were both from Colorado.

Over the last couple months, my husband started helping a little more. Pulling garbage and recycling containers up for the home health worker. Keeping an eye on things. Just neighbor stuff.

Then about 6 weeks ago, we noticed they were gone. No moving trucks. No big activity. Just… gone.

Eventually we talked to their adult children, who are around our age, and they explained that one of the daughters had moved both parents down to Houston because they could no longer safely stay in the home. Honestly, we were grateful the family could do that. So many families can’t.

The plan was to sell the house and use the money to help care for the parents.

Then the husband passed away.

And now the house is being emptied.

The few weeks, people have been inside preparing for the estate sale before the home goes on the market. Today I walked through it, and like always, estate sales hit me hard.

Because you are not just walking through a house looking for cheap treasure.

You are walking through somebody’s life.

You see the Christmas decorations collected over decades. The Mother’s Day gifts. The Father’s Day gifts. The clothes hanging in closets that went in and out of style over the years. The toiletries still sitting in cabinets. The cookbooks. The grilling tools. The china sets. The costume jewelry. The watches. The sewing room scraps. The craft supplies. The scrapbooking materials. The Zippo lighter collection. The empty picture frames.

All the little pieces that quietly say:
“We were here.”
“We lived.”
“This mattered to us.”

And it hits differently when you knew the people.

Yes, some estate sales bring in outside items, but this one was just their things. Just their life.

And honestly? Walking through the home also made me smile.

Because we tend to look at older people as if they’ve always been old. Remember when you were a rookie looking at the "Old heads?"

But back in the day, these people had it going on.

They had a beautiful pool. A huge covered patio. A wet bar. A dry sauna built into the master bathroom. A see-through fireplace between the bedroom and the bathroom. We’ve lived directly across the street from them and had no idea what they had created inside that home over the years.

I kept thinking: What a life they must have lived!

And may we all be so lucky.

May we live long enough to become old.
May we be cared for when we need help.
May we eventually pass peacefully.
That is a gift.

But the house stirred up another memory for me.

A year and a half ago, we had to empty my husband’s family home of 64 years in seven days so another family member’s healthcare could be paid for near the end of his life.

I had lots of tears. I cried deciding what to throw away, give away or sell. Golf trophies. Bowling awards. Dart plaques. The Elvis collection. Vinyl albums dating back to the 1950s. Christmas decorations from my husband’s childhood. Hummels. A crystal bell collection. Tiny lighthouses from the National Parks.

Things that once meant so much.

And then comes the hard truth:
It’s just stuff.

But at the same time, it’s not “just stuff.”

It is evidence of a life.

Those Christmas decorations were part of family memories. Those records were music somebody loved. Those awards represented pride, hobbies, friendships, competition, joy.

At our own estate sale, we ended up giving things away for free because nobody wanted them. Boxes went to charity shops where things would later sell for a dollar or two. (We did sell tons of tools and sporting equipment.)

And strangely enough, there is something comforting in that too.

Because maybe those items go on to become part of somebody else’s story. Maybe that dish sits on another family’s holiday table. Maybe those tools help somebody build something. Maybe a young person finds those old records and falls in love with music from another era. Maybe that in great shape sewing machine is used to create a Halloween costume or prom dress.

The stuff keeps moving.

What matters most is the life that happened around it.

One of the things I constantly remind myself of, and something I tell my clients often, especially first responders approaching retirement, is this:

Build a life now that is worth living now.

Not someday.
Not “after retirement.”
Not when things calm down.

Now.

Create relationships.
Take the trips.
Learn things.
Celebrate things.
Laugh more.
Take care of your health.
Make memories.
Sit outside.
Use the good dishes.
Invite people over.

Because one day, somebody may walk through our homes too. And maybe they’ll look around and think: Wow. They really lived.

As a first responder, I’ve been inside thousands of homes over the years. Different neighborhoods. Different incomes. Different cultures.

But honestly, so much is the same. The graduation pictures. The large wooden fork and spoon from Vietnam. The military photos. The wedding photos. The steins from West Germany. The baby pictures. The family Bible. The dog collar of a beloved pup.

People may look different than us, vote differently than us, worship differently than us, or live differently than us, but so many of us are building versions of the exact same human life.

We love. We struggle. We celebrate. We collect memories. We lose people. We try again. We age.

Walking through my neighbors’ home today didn’t just make me sad.

It made me thoughtful.

What I witnessed wasn’t the end of a life.

I witnessed the evidence that a life had been lived.

Are you living your life? Now?That will lead you to a great life as you age?