You Can’t Take it With You

One of the projects I committed to finishing recently was to clean up my online photos. I had almost 10,000 pictures on my iPhone which were taking up a lot of space. I scrolled back to 2005. That’s where I found almost 400 vacation pictures from our first family trip to Disney. Every amusement park ride, every costumed character, several plates of yummy food— you name it, I had taken a picture of it. To be able to snap photos right from a phone was amazing back then. In one device you had a phone, a watch, an alarm and a camera. And to have all of your photos at your fingertips— easy to share and post and reflect on— was (and still is) incredible.

But there were also plenty of pictures that I didn’t need any more and happy to delete. In the end, I managed to decrease my photo count down to about 6,500. Still a ton of pictures and fifteen years’ worth of memories. It was a treat to scroll through blasts from the past, one year after the next. The places we’ve been, the people we spent time with, several relatives who are no longer with us... all captured one frame at a time. The project was a joy to complete.

This exercise got me thinking about technology and the past. I remember when I was younger, having to buy rolls of film, and then sealing up the finished roll in the yellow pouch and sending it to Kodak for processing. Remember that? You’d also have the option for “singles” or “doubles” and then you’d wait for the prints to arrive weeks later. How many times did you get prints of your thumb, or a totally fuzzy illegible scene? (Even better, you may have paid for two prints of that shot!) I still have many of those prints in old photo albums.

My mom has an impressive collection of actual printed photos. Over the years, she accumulated box after box after box of prints (still in envelopes, with the negatives), as well as Polaroids and black-and-whites. Some were hers, some were my grandmother’s. Over time, Mom would ask, “I should do something with all those pictures?” or “What am I saving those for?” or “Do you think anyone cares about these besides me?”

During the beginning of the quarantine, mom had plenty of time at home to work on projects. She started to sort through hundreds and hundreds of her photos. She broke them into categories, separated the different families, and thought about who might care about which memories. In the end, she created little care packages of pictures for many members of our family. It was especially thoughtful during a time when we were all separated from one another. Many people—myself included-- received an unexpected envelope in the mail filled with a collection of memories curated especially for us.

Mom found the answers to her earlier questions: First, there was no need to save all the photos for herself. And yes, people did care about them— in fact, many aunts and uncles commented that some of the photos they received were pictures that they didn’t know still existed. Each person was so appreciative of the gift and the thoughtfulness behind it. Sure, mom could have scanned the photos, archived them online, and send a Google album to everyone. But what was more meaningful was having the paper photo in hand.

I share this story to remind you that You can’t take it all with you. All those photos could have sat in boxes for another 20 years until someone else would inevitably be tasked with having to figure out what to do with them.

Consider this: What if you decided to give some of your things away now, instead of waiting for someone else to inherit them after you’ve passed?

For years I’ve had conversations with clients about their collectibles and other precious items that they have been hanging onto. My team and I have creatively helped many of our clients figure out how to turn their collectibles into meaningful gifts in their lifetime. Here are a few:

• Helen had gotten too frail to live at home and was moving into an assisted living facility. She would no longer have the space in her new apartment for her traditional Christmas tree. During her packing and sorting, she took all of her precious Christmas ornaments and divided them into three separate collections—one for each of her children. She surprised them last Thanksgiving with a package for each of them—and the timing was perfect as it was right before the start of everyone’s holiday decorating. Her children and grandchildren cherished the memories associated with each unique piece as they decorated their own trees that year.

• After George lost his wife Jean, he was left with a lifetime of memories—many of which could be found in Jean’s jewelry box. Earrings, rings, brooches, and many other gifts he had given her over the years. He took her collection to a local jeweler and had many of the old pieces re-made into necklaces for his two daughters and his three granddaughters. Each necklace was new to them, but made from something recycled and special from Jean.

• Bill didn’t have much to give his son and daughter-in-law in terms of money. He simply lived on his pension and social security. But he did have a collection of antique guns in his safe in his basement. He no longer used them, and his son was never interested in them. Bill contacted an antique gun buyer who came to his house, safely assessed each piece, and offered Bill a lump sum check for more money than he could have ever imagined for the collection. He took that money and opened a college account for his ten-year-old grandson.

Think about the things that are meaningful to you. Maybe this will prompt a conversation between you and your parents or grandparents over the upcoming holiday season. Perhaps you want to give your children their “future inheritance” today when it might be more meaningful to them rather than when you are gone? And you’d have the joy of seeing that impact in your lifetime.

Want some other planning ideas that might be inspiring for your own family? Give us a call!