childhood

Lost and Found: What Matters When Possessions Disappear

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What would you do if you lost all your possessions?

Viola Davis once said, “The only picture I have of my childhood is the picture of me in kindergarten.” This quote resonates with me on a profound level because, like Viola, I know what it’s like to lose most of my childhood possessions. The experience has shaped the way I view material possessions and the value I place on the memories they hold.

Growing up, my family faced poverty, and we were constantly on the move. This transient lifestyle meant that I had no roots, no stable place to call home. As a result, I lost many of the mementos and possessions that typically define one’s childhood. I lost my medals and trophies from school, the tangible proof of my achievements. I lost my childhood books, the companions that once transported me to magical worlds. I lost the novel I wrote as a teenager, a labor of love created on the typewriter my aunt had saved up for as a Christmas gift to me. Writing was my solace, and losing that manuscript felt like losing a piece of my soul.

Then, the most heart-wrenching loss of all came when my mother passed away. Her possessions, her life’s treasures, were mostly gone by the time I had the opportunity to collect them. The reasons behind these losses are painful, and I choose not to delve into them, as they reopen wounds that time has yet to fully heal.

Now, I find myself treasuring the few childhood photos that remain in my possession. These photographs, like fragile time capsules, capture fleeting moments from my past. They are a reminder of the experiences, people, and places that have shaped me into who I am today. It’s these photographs that connect me to my roots, my history, and my family.

In response to these losses, I have developed a deep attachment to the photos I take today. My phone holds over 50,000 of them, each one a precious fragment of my life’s journey. I take too many photos, some may say, but to me, they are more than just pixels on a screen. They are a testament to my experiences, a visual diary of my life, and a legacy I hope to pass on to my son.

The fear of losing these cherished memories is something I grapple with daily. That’s why I meticulously back up these photos in multiple places, ensuring that they are protected from the whims of fate. Losing them would be devastating, for they represent the continuity of my story, the bridge between my past and my future.

So, when faced with the question, “What would you do if you lost all your possessions?” I can’t help but reflect on the intangible possessions that matter most. Material things may come and go, but the memories, experiences, and the photographs that capture them—they are the treasures I hold dear. They are the essence of who I am, and they are what I hope to pass on to the generations that follow.

In the end, it’s not about what we lose; it’s about what we choose to hold onto, what we choose to remember, and what we choose to pass down as our legacy. Or, so I hope.

Categories: childhood, Culture, family, identity, mental health, photograph, Psychology, women

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9 replies »

  2. SMiLes Dear Miriam As Far As i Feel See and Sense Greatest

    Possession is No Possession at All Love We Give AwaY in

    Peace is

    LoVE iN

    Peace

    Continuing

    A Wave Ocean

    Water FLoWinG God

    Yes Deeper Within Our Veins

    That Sung the Rest Will Be Replaced

    in Terms of Insurance Money And Green

    Mold Growing in the Bank However i’m Extra

    Blessed as i Have Close to A ‘Photographic Memory’

    Not Only For Visuals Yet For the Rest of Feelings and Senses

    As in my Life

    THere Truly

    is No Time

    Forever Now

    At Finger Tips New

    Foot Steps of my SoUL…

    Best Part oF All Now is Only Opportunity
    New to Continue to EVoLoVE iNto A New Creation
    Never Felt Sensed Before Every Breath Every New Life..:)

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  3. When we moved to California to retire (from New Jersey), we gave away over 90% of the contents of a 4BR, 2.5BA suburban house.

    To move into a 1BR, 1BA (temporary) apartment – where we lived 5 months surrounded by boxes.

    NOTHING went into storage in either State (except for a small wire cage in our new apartment building), and we STILL have too much stuff.

    I digitized the photos and videos – and they are backed up in many places – but most of the rest was passed on as inheritance (the Christmas ornaments) or gift (a box of FINISHED scrapbooks to each child containing the sum total of their homeschooled childhood).

    I’m so sorry you lost so many things – hope the remaining ones (we can only display a few in most spaces) are enough to hang your reminiscences from – and that they go with the emotions you remember. So sorry about your mother!

    And so glad you are passing it on to a son. He’s so lucky: you have prioritized this, when so many people never ‘get around to it.’ Which reminds me of how much work I still have to do on that front (after I finish the current novel!).

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  4. I sort of feel your pain. My parents gave away my trombone from high school to my niece without asking. Figured I didn’t need it anymore. That began a pattern. When my mother died, my father threw away all the family photos. He had no use for the memories.

    Then when he moved to a different house, he threw away the negatives from my high school photography and sold the huge library we’d accumulated. There went my yearbooks and a lot of literature I’d accumulated over the years. All I have is what I could pack into a car when I moved to California 45 years ago. It would be several years before I had the space to bring everything out here.

    I just wish someone would have asked.

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