As we rounded a corner early this morning, I saw an “Estate Sale” sign pointing down the street. I thought, “Those are powerful words.”
An estate sale follows someone’s death. Those words remind us of our mortality. Death is certain.
You can’t take it with you. Someone left behind a house full of stuff. They had no heirs or no one wanted the accumulated possessions. A houseful of collections, artwork, furniture, clothing, pictures, appliances, and tools would be sold for a small fraction of their cost. Anything unsold would be donated to a thrift store or left on the curb for trash collection. All of those things saved up for, purchased, and cared for are worthless.
That someone must have died alone. They survived the death of a spouse. Perhaps they never married. Family lived far away. Did they leave a pet behind?
How did their life end? Did someone discover them after a few days of not answering the phone? That’s sounds gruesome. Did they spend their last days in the hospital? In a previous post, I spoke of neighbors I’ve never actually seen. If they dropped dead at home, who would miss them?
As we walked down the street, I looked for more signs directing traffic to the estate sale. It might be at a house I walked by all the time. Maybe I knew the deceased. Maybe I had waved at them in the past.
But when the hurricane is breathing down your neck, you urgently have to accumulate things. Gas cans (4), extension cords for the generator (2), battery-powered lanterns (2), disposable plates and utensils, candles (#?), bottled water, ice (5 bags from our own ice maker), a new cooler, a new fan (a life-saver), chains for the chain saw (2), a yard rake, a new pair of work gloves, and calming toys and bones for the dog (3).
Waite for it... 