It came down to a game of Rock, Papers, Scissors. The six of us, all grown children, and one small storage shed full of boxes and second hand furniture. The remaining accumulation of two peoples' lives. Most of the valuable stuff, if you could call the possessions of a truckdriver dad and a waitress mom "valuable", were already gone. The contents of the boxes was all that remained.
Well used pots and pans that had seen thousands of simple yet filling meals. A small black comb that still smelled faintly of dad. Some framed photographs, wine glasses that were only used rarely on special occasions, an old jewelry box. Our childhood memories.
One by one we pulled items out. There had been no designation of who would get what. As each item was pulled out, we each expressed our interest or not. If more than one person was interested, we played roeshambo to see who would take it home.
No one argued. A few cried when grief overwhelmed us. We worked all day to clear the shed and we honored our parents.
When I returned home to my children and husband, they helped me unpack the boxes I brought home. With each item, we cried and talked about Grandma and Grandpa.
Its been almost six months since my mother died and almost six years since my dad. I am aware of their absence every day.