Just Things

(Written after the loss of a grandparent)

Stack the books in the box, unplug and wind up the cord of the landline telephone and take down the photos.

It's the end.

Sweep away the hair from the bathroom floor, vacuum the pills lost in the carpet, empty out the desk drawers.

It doesn't matter.

There's nothing more.

They're just things.

Here's the worn down, leather Bible used every day. Here's a commentary on the book of Luke. There's an old wrist watch with a diamond chip. This book sat on his lap and was cradled by his warm hands. This telephone was held as he spoke words of comfort to his loved ones. That desk is where he sat to count and organize coins. It's where he inspected his stamp collection. There is an imprint in the chair.

They are just things.

The dining table has fingerprints on his particular spot. The carpet is worn from the path he tread every day.

That chair. How empty it now sits. It's where he told stories of his life. It’s where he sat and listened to his Lord speak to him through sermons. It's where he dozed off without knowing it.

It's just things.

“I like that duck. It'd be nice to have.”

“The duck will go to uncle Larry. It belonged to his father.”

“Who gets the painting of the old homestead?”

“Janice wanted it.”

Why are these things wanted? Why is there such discussion?

It's because these aren't just things.

Each item holds a memory. Every piece has a story attached to it. Some stories even go beyond his life.

There is a life to these things that only humans attach-memories.

Those memories give life to these things.

We see Grandpa drinking his coffee and sharing what God has been teaching him. We hear Grandpa yelling at the TV as his favorite team fumbles the ball. We see him sitting in his chair gently rocking and listening to you ramble on about your day.

These things remind us of the love he had for us and the life he left behind.

These are not just things.