Marie Kondo wouldn't last a minute in a Boomer's garage

"Mom, it's time to talk about the garage."

It’s not junk, it’s not stuff. It’s love.

I recently visited my parents' home in a quiet suburb with well-kept (now artificial) lawns, American flags, towering eucalyptus and palm trees side-by-side, Priuses, and a lot of Boomers.

Folks who moved in and never out. Who raised families, supported the local rec centers and libraries. Proud, strong, hardworking people -- who keep a lot of old stuff.

Walking to the coffeeshop one morning, passing open garages packed to the brim, it dawned on me: these homes are time capsules.

And it will be a woman who opens them and has to clear them out. We should have a say under what circumstances.

Maybe Ken Burns will do a documentary about it one day: Boomers and their Stuff.

My generation just collects Stanley cups, Instagram followers, and canvas tote bags. We don't get it. But Boomers grew up in a time of economic prosperity, raised by parents shaped by the Great Depression and the fear of needing it later. They were taught this.

The act of saving: memories, history, things that hold meaning. When discarded or given away, what new meaning does that bring to their lives?

My baby teeth, every single report card ("will need to repeat Algebra (again), creative, can be bossy, talks too much"), my great-great grandfather's baby hair from 1890 with a note atop "never, ever throw away."

Our very own archeological digs.

And now it's our turn to uncover their history by gently excavating, with a lot of care. Their whole lives documented in a closet, a garage, a basement, or an attic.

Saved for you and me to find and witness.

I don't care about my report cards (clearly never did) but now I appreciate that my mom saved them for me to find one day.

This is complicated work as they are stubborn. Marie Kondo wouldn't last a minute in a Boomer's garage. It's emotional with degrees of grief packed in with the Beanie Babies. Every family is different and the only way to do it is with kindness and a lot of patience.

It's not junk. It's not just "stuff."

It's layers of love.

I just did this on a sunny Saturday —negotiating, dusting off, chipping away at the years until the final discovery: love. In the process, I learned so much I never knew about their lives. Between trip after trip to Goodwill, the important things were saved and brought to light. There is more to do, but it's a good thing I've got the tote bags for carrying.

If this resonates with you, if somewhere there is a big space full of love that needs to be addressed sooner rather than later but you aren't sure where to start -- our eldercare Experts are here to help.

You'll find parts of yourself along the way, too.

Rooting for you,

Abby

Founder and CEO of Sam