Ninety five years

203 words. 2 minutes to read.

Before grandma died, she moved into a partial care home.

I’ll never forget the room she lived in for her last few days. She had a few favourite books, a painting, a sculpture she’d made in clay. There were some handmade textiles, and some photos, mostly of family members.

Nothing much else.

The room had a small wardrobe, enough for maybe ten or fifteen dresses and a couple of coats. She also had a small bedside chest, presumably for her underwear. Her shoes – five pair – were lined up neatly beneath her bed.

This was the sum of the belongings of a woman over ninety. She was an educated woman with an amazing mind and a wonderful humour about her who added value to the lives of everyone she knew.

Even now, fifteen years after her death, so many people remember her.

I don’t know what happened to her belongings. Presumably they were shared out among family members, or given away.

I do know that she gave me memories that made me a richer, better person.

Why I’m talking about this? Because her life – and her end – is a lesson to me. She taught me – and keeps on teaching me – that it’s not the stuff we leave behind that matters.

what we leave behind


3 thoughts on “Ninety five years

  1. Lisa | Simple Life Experiment says:

    What a beautifully succinct and meaningful post, Lee! It’s really not the stuff we leave behind that matters. It will all be given away, thrown away, sold or simply forgotten. What remains is the memories we have left of ourselves with the people we love. It sounds like your grandma was a wonderful woman who appreciated the best things in life and taught those around her how to do so as well.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Michelle says:

    A couple of years ago I caught up with a friend who’d moved from Sydney where he, an only child, lived in his parents’ large harbourside home, to London, where he had a single room in student digs.

    I think he was a fairly thoughtful and not overly materialistic person to begin with, but I still remember the fascinating conversation we had – sitting in his tiny room – about how much happier he felt, suddenly stripped of so much of his Stuff, which he’d now quite powerfully realised that he didn’t need. I remember that conversation whenever I make hard choices about things in my life and whether I really need them (hint: there’s nothing I’ve decided to part with that I’ve later found I actually needed!)…


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