You’ve heard the question asked, “If your home were on fire, what you try to save?” Most people answer that they would rescue people and pets and as many photographs and memories as possible.

The question we are facing is similar. We are forced to consider, “If we have to evacuate our home, what should we take with us?” Or, put another way, which of our possessions can we live without?

Our area is just a few miles from largest wildfire in Colorado’s history. We are on “evacuation alert.” If we get the call to evacuate, we will have to grab whatever we can save and leave immediately.

We packed suitcases with a few clothes and toiletries and set them by the door. Though these things are not valuable, time is. We moved the computers…I make a living with my computer. We cleared out books we sell from our home office. Those books represent our livelihood. We packed financial records – who wants to hassle with the government for years over missing documents?

Now, what else? We snatched family pictures from the walls and packed scrapbooks in boxes. These are truly valuable and cannot be replaced. I grabbed sentimental objects from my childhood and stuffed them in a box.

Then we took a hard look at all that remained. There was a lamp that belonged to my great grandmother. A piano Bev learned to play when she was a little girl. A hutch that belonged to her grandmother. A large rug we spent months saving for and bought for our mountain home. Bedroom furniture we wanted to pass down to our children someday. There were handmade quilts and gifts from dear friends and family. It is impractical to move everything from our home and store them for an indefinite time. Some important items will have to stay behind.

I never thought that my “things” meant much to me. I prided myself in believing that I would never let myself get attached to possessions, for things of the spirit were all that truly mattered. But these particular “things” pulled within. Those “worthless” coins and memorabilia from my childhood – what was that about? The furniture we inherited or grew up with – why did it call out to me so? Or that rug we bought together? Or the many items that decorate our house given to us by friends and family over the years?

The answer, of course, is that these things represent our love as a couple and a family. They also signify all of those people over the years we have loved and who loved us. And each has stories to tell. They tell of all we’ve been through together and where we are headed. They speak in the voices of generations past – parents and grandparents.

We cannot take the piano, but we can visualize how Bev, as a baby, learned to walk clutching the edge of that piano bench. We smell the “old” and pleasant scents of grandparents’ homes as we hear the wind-up clock chime or run our fingers over a mahogany hutch we refinished years ago. We are flooded with memories as we gaze upon items given to us by cherished friends over a lifetime.

Some of these possessions of a life tell stories about the people who first owned them. Stories of how they faced hardship together, how they raised their children and how they lived their lives. These “things” are not just things – they are memories, no less valuable than the photographs. They tell stories about where we’ve been, where we now are and where we’re going. They tell stories of friends, of family and of love.

Most of our memories will be left in the house if it burns – we’ll never have enough time to save the furnishings. And looking around at that we might lose, I find it difficult to say good-bye. But strangely, I also feel fortunate that I have been surrounded with objects that tell such warm and wonderful stories. Valuable objects; perhaps not in the world’s eyes, but valuable nevertheless. The worth of all these things will never be measured on a ledger sheet. Though they are possessions, they are still things of the heart.

Someone wisely said, “There are people so poor that the only thing they have is money.” And now I know. I am indeed rich. I am rich in friends and family. Rich in memories. Rich in everything that has ever really mattered to me. I am wealthier than I ever believed possible.

It took a fire to teach me.

© 2002 Steve Goodier

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