What Do We Keep?

Update:
Life continues at a frantic pace as I take on new roles in managing our business affairs. At times it's exhilarating and then overwhelming; but I’m always learning and that feels good. I’m grateful Harold encouraged me to be self reliant, allowing me to develop the skills I now need to survive. I’m grateful he also understood I would still need help. Sometimes when I am searching for information only he could know, I check his computer and find a spreadsheet prepared in anticipation of my search. There's no way around missing Harold, but I feel his care. Life is still good.
 
What Do We Keep  - September 8th.

I'm in Idaho. It’s my first time back since my dad died. I flew out to help settle his estate. I’m alone in the house today so I’ve had the chance to walk through the rooms, savoring the evidence of the life we shared and the loved ones who made that life so good.

An inventory has been taken and everything is prepared for dividing. But how do you break up the memories of a lifetime? Inwardly I rebel. Nothing should leave. I need these symbols of my heritage to stay intact to preserve my roots . . . or at least I think I do.

A curved topped cedar chest holds evidence of our family's beginnings. Preserved inside is my mother’s wedding dress and my father's military uniform. A rocking chair crafted from roughly hewn logs carries my grandfather’s signature while my grandmother’s is in the hand stitched quilt.

An open kitchen drawer reveals brightly knit hot pads made to protect my mother’s hands as she transferred savory roasts, homemade breads, and fruit pies from the oven to our waiting table. A cookie jar stands sentinel, still offering the tantalizing hope of a treat. 

Mom's upright piano represents years of beautiful music, and hard work. It was the vehicle of her virtuosity and the setting of endless hours of practice. My dad loved to listen to her play, and later when we were learning, he encouraged us too. The piano became the center of family gatherings with our children joining in the singing or playing or happily dancing to grandma's improvised jigs. 

The cases of books testify to my parents love of literature. Personal histories, journals, photo albums and framed portraits witness a commitment to family history and an interest in future generations.

Beyond material things there is a sense of order: The immaculately cared for lawns, the white barn, and the fields. My father continued to maintain his large yard even when age weakened his frame, relying on his riding lawnmower instead of his legs. Later family members stepped in, continuing his example of careful stewardship.

As I walk through the house and grounds I fight within myself. I can't bear to see the change. But change must come. I want to walk away. But maybe I should stay. 

If I stay, what would I choose to keep?
 
My thoughts from September 8th ended with that question. Here's the rest of the story:

There are probably many elaborate strategies for safely dividing estates. Ours wasn’t too complicated. We drew straws, flipped coins, and for really hotly contested items, sat around the kitchen table and played Rock Paper Scissors. It was a blast. It worked because we had all figured out what to keep – Relationships.