We were sitting at her dining room table, surrounded by her things. The china cabinet. The sideboard. Plates. Figurines. The good silver. Her adult son was with us, obviously a little embarassed about his mom’s combative attitude. I don’t think it had anything to do with me. She was suspicious. Of realtors, of lawyers, of anyone involved with the dispersal of her home and her possessions. She was old, and she was scared.

“I won’t be able to take everything with me,” she said. “Whatever the kids don’t want, maybe the new owners will buy it? It’s very high quality.”

I had to choose my words carefully. Her son had already told me that neither he nor any of his siblings had any interest in the stuff. And there was no way the buyers would take it. There was nothing wrong with it. But there was nothing special about it, either. And people don’t like antiques anymore. The new aesthetic, such as it is, runs to International Airbnb.

Everything had to go. And nobody was going to pay anything for it. In fact, the family would have to pay to have it hauled away.

“Well...” I began. “I do know a few companies who can help. They’ll come and see what you have and make you a fair offer for any pieces they can take. But...” I hesitated. No getting around it. Have to give it to her straight. “In my experience very often the best we can expect is a fair quote to have everything disposed of.”

Her eyes narrowed. I realized I had said too much. I had insulted her. My attempt to be forthright had triggered her suspicion that I was just another slick operator. Maybe I got a kickback from the estate company after they sold her heirlooms. The ones her family wouldn’t take.

“But you never know!” I finished brightly.

...

Some of you are going to think this is about decluttering.

It isn’t.

It’s true that nobody wants your stuff. Even the nice stuff: people want their own nice stuff. And your stuff won’t give your life meaning. “For a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”

So, yes, it’s best not to expect too much from your stuff. After your funeral your kids are going to call 1-800-Got Junk from wherever they are in the world and a big blue truck is going to pull up to what used to be your home and now belongs to strangers.

This isn’t a black pill.

Well, okay...It’s kind of a black pill. But I want to give it to you straight.

If you collect a bunch of stuff over a lifetime spent collecting stuff, and you live apart from your family in a house by yourself, eventually you’re going to have to leave that house, and you won’t be able to take all that stuff with you. And the house where your children were born will belong to strangers. And if your family lives in another house with their own stuff, the same thing is going to happen to them and their stuff.

But what if you and your kids and their kids all lived together? And what if your stuff wasn’t just a burden for them to dispose of from afar, but something you all shared? Just the things you had in the house, the dishes you ate from, together. The books you read to your grandkids. The records you played. The family photos, the family Bible.

Didn’t people used to live this way? Something must have changed along the way.

Maybe it can’t happen anymore...

But maybe it can.