My dad has a pretty extensive collection of hats. A couple years ago he had an acute health event and was hospitalized for weeks, so I went home to visit and help my mom. It was scary and sad. One afternoon I was alone at their house between hospital visits, looking for something to occupy time and brainspace, and found his hats scattered in various closets and shelves around the house.
I had a meditative moment with each hat, thinking about the significance of each. The oldest ones date back up to 30 years. Some seem random, but all of the ones whose meaning I could discern seem to be associated with the things I know my dad loves: nature, travel, golf, education, church stuff, his daughters. Basically it shows he’s just a Midwestern dad trying his best out there.
My dad recovered fully and is okay for now, thankfully, but we didn’t know what the outcome was going to be at the time, so going through the hats felt like a poignant and emotional exercise. It made me think about what it will be like when my parents are no longer on this earth and I will only have what they’ve left behind, which is their stuff, and me.
