The collections of stuff that we hold onto may not have great dollar value, but it has value to US. Some folks may not understand this, especially those who have not been "out there and seen the elephant." I have two examples I'll share.
My Father was in the Navy and a member of the Blue Angels. Then 32 years in Civil Service across the hanger from the Blues. Immediately went to work a couple days later at his favorite Golf Course a few miles from the base when he retired the second time after civil service. He worked until a brain tumor put a stop to that work. He beat the tumor twice... but was basically confined to his recliner for the next decade.
He was an Amazing Amateur Golfer, and had a huge collection of Golf Clubs, Custom Bags, shoes, hats, and branded Towels from the various courses he had played around the world. Golf had played a huge part of his life from his time as a Junior enlisted member of the Navy, throughout his Navy Career, and continued into his civilian life. It opened doors.
He and the CO of the Blue Angels would play whenever and wherever they could get in a round as they flew around the world with the squadron between airshows, and as a civil service employee he played with EVERYONE on the base and in the PRO-AM tournaments all over the state and beyond. Well known players wanted to have HIM as their amateur on this pro-am squad.
When he could no longer play due to the disability, my stepmother pushed him to "Get Rid of that Clutter." He had eight or ten complete sets of golf clubs lined up along the walls of the den, like Marines ready to do battle, waiting for action. In a corner were boxes of brand new golf shoes given to him as promotions or prizes in tournaments and drawings, that he had never worn. He had boxes of brand new golf towels from the various courses as souvenirs, received in the SWAG bags when you sign up, never used. A hat tree filled with hats, gifted when he played tournaments or served as Marshall for the various tournaments around Florida. She wanted it all gone. "Talk to your Father, tell him to get rid of this junk, he'll never use it."
Later that evening, I sat down and asked him about it. He was entering into early dementia, and he knew it. We talked about his fears of the memory loss and what he had already lost.
"Take the towels with you when you leave, take the hats. Makes some calls to the schools and find one with a Golf program. Give them that pile of new shoes. I'm keeping the clubs. All of them. Bring me that bag," he said pointing. He pulled a driver from the bag and held it in his hands. He stroked the head of the driver and closed his eyes. "With this driver, I went straight off the tee on number 7 in Georgia on this little backwoods course that was so pretty, and landed just off the green." He handed me the driver and pointed to another club. "I used this one to chip right into the cup and went one under."
He waived his hand across the row of bags. "This are no longer my golf clubs son. These are my touchstones, my memories. I can pull every one of these clubs out of the bag and remember courses, holes, and shots along the courses that I had forgotten. I can bring back the day, the weather, and the smell of the course. I am becoming slowly lost and it scares me. I can't let them go, not now."
My stepmother had also told him to give ME his watch collection. He never left the house alone, and didn't need them. He said the same thing. Most of them didn't work anymore and they weren't valuable except a couple he wore while flying. "But they hold my memories. I know what I was doing and where I was when I hold them."
I told my stepmother to let him keep the clubs and the watches as long as he wanted, they weren't hurting anyone. He would donate them when he was ready.
My patches from the military and Law Enforcement, as well as the hats and coffee cups represent the same. Touchstones to my past. Instructor Schools, Squadrons, Units, Units I worked WITH. Places I've been. I have some displayed in the home office, most are packed away.
Memories fade, touchstones bring the colors back.
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