This last year has been tremendously difficult going through the contents of my childhood home. I come from a family of collectors, keepers and savers of family history and assorted magical things. Everything we associate with our childhood. Things that are now becoming collectable.
Of course none of us can keep it all. One of my siblings lives in NYC the other in the UK. I still live in the city where we grew up but I never wanted to live in the house we grew up in I am too independent for that; I need to create my own space.
But what made it so difficult to go through the contents and get the house ready for sale was my parents designed their house. It's mid-century modern design; in the suburbs, with alot of land not necessarily well suited for any of us, perfect for my parents.
You learn alot about yourself when you go through your family's belongings. My mother died 18 years before my father and as we went through things she came back to me so vividly.
I learned how lucky I really am to have had such amazing parents, to be in this family as tough as we sometimes are as opinionated. We think about things we do things we make things and we laugh at things.
Yet in many ways I am tormented about what we left behind for the estate sale, or what went to auction. Did we keep the important things? Not the "valuable" things but what has great significance to our family, who we are now and who we once were, who we will be.
I have been working on a series of things we found in our parent's house.
Here's something we found that we couldn't keep so instead a photo: