Heirlooms

We're not particularly close, my uncle and I, so I was surprised to hear his voice on the other end of the phone asking for help.  "I'm not solvent anymore, you know".  Yes, I was quite aware from conversations with my parents that the economic crisis decimated his portfolio.  After months of weighing his options, my uncle was reluctantly leaving his elegant 2000 square foot apartment with a breathtaking view of The Space Needle and Mt. Rainer for a 650 square foot box in a government subsidized, adult housing complex.  I spent two days helping him pack while he wandered around in a daze saying goodbye to possessions he spent a lifetime accumulating.  Dinnerware from China, a cherry sleigh bed from upstate New York, a tray from Turkey, a marble desk from Italy, a figurine from Japan.  As my ink-stained hands wrapped another heirloom in yesterday's New York Times he regaled me with how item was acquired.  I engaged as if hearing the tale for the first time. When my grandmother died 13 years ago my uncle was unconcerned with memories, and had a huge estate sale.  This resulted in some very unhappy family members.  I was curious why these treasures were being spared such a fate, especially when he could benefit from the extra cash.  During our two days together it was clear, my uncle was willing to downsize, but he wasn't willing to part with his things.  He needed to know his collection was intact, safe and still in the family.  Piling up the boxes and tagging the furniture that was going to LA, he turned to me and asked, "Can I come visit them?"  "Of course",  I replied.