Along with routinely sharing a great deal of storytelling throughout my youth, my parents left me with many family photo albums and boxes of both our family and distant family memories (including letters, scrapbooks, military artifacts, and more). My mom even wrote a short autobiography in her later years, which is packed with her lifelong stories, and is such a treasure for me.

Throughout my life I have always been one to collect and preserve memories. Some people might even say I’m a “memory hoarder” and they would probably be right.

Ah, memories, and the stories behind them. They were important to my mom and they are important to me.

I created scrapbooks as a young child, preserving everything from the first prize ribbon for a large paper cow I created in kindergarten… to Disneyland paper ride tickets (remember those coupons, designated A thru E, the E rides being the most thrilling?)… to the engraved napkins from a dinner at the Governor’s mansion of South Carolina (invited due to relatives’ connections)… to… well, name something odd and I’d likely have saved it a scrapbook!

If something didn’t fit in my scrapbook, that didn’t mean it wasn’t saved. I have several large “memorabilia boxes” packed with remnants of my childhood. One still contains a yellow ballerina tutu, made lovingly by my mother, worn in a 2^nd grade talent show. That tutu now seems too small to have ever fit me… It looks like it would barely fit around the waist of my vintage Chatty Kathy doll. Luckily she has her original blue pinafore dress.

I took lots of photos every chance I got, even when I was very young. I can vividly recall dropping off my single-use, disposal plastic cameras at the local drugstore for processing (remember those?). I upgraded to a “real” reusable camera (the ones that had a cartridge you then dropped off or sent in to get processing done) early-on, and was always the shutterbug at any social function.

I faithfully put hundreds of photos in albums. Back then, I often even shared physical prints with family and friends. In many cases this meant getting prints made from their negatives (this often had to be done via snail mail ordering) and then snail mailing them to the individual.

It took some effort to share memories back in the day.

Some of my longtime friends (you know who you are) may even recall the year I made photo collages for them as Christmas gifts. I’m guessing no-one still has them, but they contained some very fun photos of group activities and many wonderful friendship memories at the time. I even labeled some of those photo collage gifts, like “Drink, Drank, Drunk” for one good friend’s exploits during a road-trip to Vegas while in Junior College. I often think that I have a lot of good black-mail material should any of my longtime friends decide to become a politician.

I filed away all of my negatives (I wonder how many of you out there have ever even seen photo negatives!), labeling each yellow Kodak processing envelope with the date/subject matter detailing its contents. I still have many plastic storage bins full of these. I’m not entirely sure if you can even get prints made from such negatives these days. Now, if I need to make a copy of a physical photo, I typically just scan it, and text that digital file, or email it, to the recipient. Yes, I suppose negatives are obsolete for most people these days. Once the digital world came along, I upgraded to a digital camera, and digital sharing became much easier and immediate.

The downside of this technology evolution, however—as far as I am concerned (and yes, I know I’m a digital dinosaur)—is that few people can easily find a particular photo anymore, at least, without a lot of scrolling through an iPhone, external PC storage drives, or the cloud (whatever and wherever that is… I sometimes wonder).

No-one keeps physical prints or albums anymore.

Today’s young adults have hundreds—or more likely, thousands—of photos on their iPhones. But most have very few actual pictures in frames or albums. It has always struck me as sad that my two sons’ most memorable moments are possibly not retained or easily found. I wrote an earlier blog on the demise of photo albums years ago after realizing that the popular app at the time, Snapchat, basically meant some of the best moments of my sons’ lives were disappearing after a few seconds of viewing.

Also, it’s just a bit sad that the photos they do have on their iPhones and up in the cloud are likely only THEIR photos. They don’t have mom and dad’s pics, other family members’ precious pics, friends’ pics, etc. And they most often don’t have the stories behind the photos should they have them.

But wait! Perhaps these young adults have access to mom and dad’s photo albums? I know I did. But the problem with old photo albums after so many years of storage is that many of these “inherited” albums used sticky backed (so-called “magnetic”) pages. I have often wondered who came up with that bright idea: “Let’s take precious photo memories and adhere them to an acidic chemical that will destroy them over time.” (And how is it that they are still selling these today!) Fortunately, I scanned my parents’ photo albums decades ago, so I have all of the photos, intact. Sadly, many find these precious family albums ruined with time.

Throughout my adult life I’ve been saving my iPhone photos, and the digital photos sent to me by family and friends, up in my Dropbox. Precious memories of my own life and the lives of my sons. Every time I suck up the latest batch I feel relieved, thinking they are safe now. A massive earthquake may swallow me up, but folders and folders of pictures—spanning decades—will survive. But then what? In order to ever truly share them I have a massive undertaking awaiting me, I have to organize them by person/privacy/family group/whatever. So in the meantime, they sit. Still lumped in various folders that make finding any individual photo nearly impossible… but at least they are safe from natural disasters. Once in a blue moon I spend a few hours sifting through the disorganized folders, attempting to create order. But those sessions are often interrupted when I find a photo I simply must share. Off I go to text it to a son or friend. The distraction completely derailing me.

Maybe someday I’ll finish that project. Sigh.

I recently transferred all the family’s old VHS videos to digital, and sucked those videos up to Dropbox as well. They are true memory hoarder treasures, and I’ve shared links to all of them with my two sons. I don’t think they’ve viewed them. Maybe actually being the young and goofy one IN the family videos isn’t as fun to relive as a parent watching their kids be young and goofy.

And what happens to this memory hoarder archive when I die? Does my Dropbox—and all the painstakingly curated memories— simply disappear when no-one pays the Dropbox renewal bill?

Or if somehow saved, will either of my sons ever have the time or inclination to dive into thousands of photos in order to retrieve the memories of their—and their parents’ and other relatives’—past?  Somehow, I doubt it. I’m envisioning that all of my memories will simply float away into the vast internet space, along with the hundreds of thousands of my life’s emails and other remnants of the “virtual” me.

Along with trying to organize my memory hoarder archive I’ve been putting photo albums together for both my sons. Their baby albums have so many fun things (sonogram pic, hospital bracelet, a clipping of hair from the first haircut, etc.). But will they care? Do they even want to see any of those things? I tell them it will be fun to share it with their own kids someday, should they have them. They shrug their shoulders, give me an eye roll, and politely change the subject.

And what about all the memorabilia left by my parents? Military flags and collectibles from my father’s time in the service. Crochet and hand-sewn baby blankets, and home-made crafts from my mom. All the Christmas ornaments she created. She always referred to all of her home-made wares as “future heirlooms.” And they really were… and continue to be cherished and reflected on throughout the years.

So many memories of our core family, my parents’ life pre-kids, and that of the lives of many of our ancestors. But I don’t see anyone clamoring to get their hands on anything “vintage”. Well, maybe the sterling or other collectibles (worth some money versus just having emotional and historical value).

Today’s young adults don’t want Granny’s china, or the family jewelry (unless they can hock it) or mom’s bridal gown. But yet, I had my wedding gown cleaned and preserved for my….  Hmmmm… for a future daughter-in-law? Oh, here, I’ve saved a (as of now) 38-year-old wedding dress for you (which will now likely make you feel guilty for not wanting to wear it).

Downsizing during a move 3 years ago was actually my partial solution to my dilemma of being a memory hoarder. I truly believe one expands the things they save based on their storage, and my family’s previous home had lots of storage. We even had off-site storage for a while, mainly to hold a bunch of my mother’s “treasures” when she moved in with us in her final years of life. But now, my much smaller house has very limited storage, so I am forced to do two things. 1) Get rid of stuff, even the stuff having high sentimental value 2) Not collect new stuff (which really isn’t my problem as it is only the old stuff that really holds special memories for me…). So, I have been going through the last few boxes of my parents’ things as well as my own “special memory” boxes (containing all of the things that wouldn’t fit in my scrapbooks), enjoying them (and sometimes sharing pieces of them via an iPhone screen shot to my sons or friends), and then discarding them.

And as my husband and I have recently updated our will, and were faced with a page entitled, “Bequests,” I’ve been careful about leaving too many “sentimental” possessions to our kids and family, and rather, leaving things of actual value that hopefully… just possibly… also have sentimental merits as well. The last thing I want is for my sons, family or friends to keep some bequeathed—but unwanted—artifact around out of some allegiance to me.

So how did I become a memory hoarder? I blame it on my sweet little mom.

For whatever reason memories were important to my mom. She saved letters, photos and all sorts of sentimental and historical memorabilia. Family history, in particular, was important to her. And, she is the person who instilled in me the importance of sharing said memories.

So, when I saved a letter that I received from a Vietnam soldier in 1969 (saved in one of my two very full scrapbooks), 40 years later I found his adult daughter (and him) and sent his original letter to his young grandson.

When I saved letters from college friends, decades later I gave them back. Many said that reading a letter from a “younger” version of themselves was an unbelievable opportunity to travel thru time. Yeh for memory hoarding!

For me, traveling down memory lane (reading those friends’ letters one more time before returning them, for example) was fun—and in a few cases, bittersweet. Flipping through the pages of my first scrapbook was like watching a video of my early life—before videos were available. The dated pages from my piano teacher, where every lesson for 13 plus years was recorded with a star. The color of the star designated the “grade” for that lesson. Then there are the vet bills for my first cat, which I had to pay for… proudly taped there one by one. Ticket stubs from special family trips. Report cards and notes from teachers relating to their favorite teacher’s pet. So many fun things to have been able to revisit a few times throughout my life.

After my mom passed away, I found so many “memories” that she packed away in her things. A vase, for instance. Not one I would have kept, frankly, but when I looked inside of it, I had found a handwritten note. The note, written in my elderly mom’s beautiful cursive handwriting, gave the history of the vase, which she had been given around 1935. The note also told the history of other items my mom had saved that had belonged to her mom. A definite memory hoarder keepsake.

Later, when I was packing up her photos, I was looking at one she had on display in a large ceramic frame. It was my wedding photo. But true to my mom, it wasn’t just a photo in a frame. Taped to the back was a tiny bag with something inside of it. It was a piece of my wedding gown! Ahhh.

And you wonder where I got the memory hoarding gene!

She kept every card I gave her and my dad, throughout my life. She actually made a photo album of sorts, adhering each card within the book, even retaining the envelopes the cards had been sent in. As you flip through the album, you can see my own progression based on the return addresses on each envelope. The dorm in San Francisco, my apartment with college roomies, my first solo apartment, my husband and my first house, and beyond.

One day she actually gave me this album with a sweet note attached:

Yes, my mom was a memory hoarder.

How could I not be?

She was not someone who wore fancy jewelry (nor am I). The only jewelry she wore had sentimental meaning: her wedding ring, a petite heart necklace I had given her as a young child, various pins that had some significance either as being a gift or remembrance (like her college class pin). She had a few pieces of jewelry that she gave me over the years. One of my most prized possessions is a silver bracelet, not prized for its value, but its age and story. That, too, came to me (when my mom was still alive) with a little note discussing its past. I wear it quite often; it is really the only jewelry I wear other than my wedding ring. I need to figure out who to leave it to as it is so special to me.

But now, sitting here writing this piece, I realize… I’ve got to get a grip.

No-one wants the bulk of my precious memorabilia.

No-one.

Photos? Maybe.

Old family albums? Maybe.

Old family videos? Maybe.

But certainly not my childhood scrapbooks, tutu and wedding gown.

And perhaps I need to get rid of Chatty Kathy, who frankly, somewhat creeps me out. Years ago, when I was packing her away for our big move, I pulled her string. It worked, but she sounded a big drugged… I guess that’s what living in a glass cabinet for decades will do to a young girl.

So, what to do?

Well, I’m moving forward with my photo album creations. It may take years but I am fully committed (or perhaps I should be) to putting albums together for both my sons. I will also continue sending old photos, letters and other memorabilia to old friends as I find them. People do seem to appreciate getting a piece of their own history.

I’ve put a reminder note in our legal documents (with the will) to keep paying for the Dropbox until both sons have had the opportunity to view—and perhaps even save—videos, photos and other memories… If no-one pays the Dropbox bill, I will have spent a lot of time “saving” and “organizing” for nothing… and all of those memories will float away, forever.

Someone needs to build an app to help the younger generation preserve their and their family’s memories. But then, maybe someone already has, and I’m just too much of a technology dinosaur to know.