Editors Note: This article was updated to correct an error.

Elizabeth Pavey is a second-year marketing and business administration major and writes “On My Mind” for the Daily News. Her views do not necessarily reflect those of the newspaper. 

In the past year, my grandma has gifted me dozens of boxes caked in dust. They held promises of memories that were easier forgotten than she could discard. 

Just a few weeks ago, she called me over to her home.

“This belongs to you now,” she said to me with a warm smile, as though I had received something of great importance. 

She smiled like she had done me a service and expected a reaction full of awestruck gratitude. I took the box kindly, but I silently judged its contents. Only living in my hometown part-time, I  collected another forgotten box to sit in my room and wait for me to reach for it.

Except I know that I never will. 

I am grateful for the opportunity to reflect on the items from my youth, but while there may be one or two items I remember and choose to cherish, the rest feel burdensome. 

The items belong to me, but the value belongs to my grandmother.

A professor at the University of Technology Sydney, Elise van de Hoven, published a study titled “Possessions and Memories” with The University of Dundee. The study takes a look into the different connections between a person and their meaningful possessions.

“Each connection type either focuses on possessions or memories and the connection between the two is either active or lost,” Hoven said in the study. 

The first connection she discusses, type one, is what I believe grants a historical item value. It allows memories to be associated with a possession through “acquisition, usage, ownership or access.” Essentially, the item is integrated and experienced in everyday life, allowing people to create personal associations.

Type one resonates with me as I think fondly of a brown cedar chest that rested at the foot of my grandmother’s grand four-poster bed. Suddenly, I am eight years old again, sleeping over at my grandmother’s house, ready to watch movies and eat ice cream. 

My knees dig into her old floral rug as I rummage the cedar chest for my favorite blanket. I remember how carefully I would lower the hefty lid, afraid of slamming it on my small fingers or being reprimanded for my carelessness. I remember the chore of folding all the blankets I had used and making them fit alongside the pillows I had rested on the night before.

The cedar chest was old then, and more than a decade later, the piece of furniture continues to age in my closet, resting beneath hanging clothes. 

My room is full of white shelves, a white dresser and a light-colored wooden bookshelf, which contrasts with the richness of the cedar chest. While it doesn’t quite match, the chest is practical, providing storage and a childhood worth of memories. 

I can see the value in one day placing the cedar chest somewhere in my home, and I don’t mind keeping it close to me.

Hoven’s study describes the second type of connection to heirlooms as memories intentionally cued by a possession. This includes items like souvenirs, photos, or other regalia that we keep to remember moments and people that are important to the original owner.

While younger generations value their family histories, they’ve exchanged their obligated sentiment for practicality. I find it unreasonable to home the mementos of someone elses’ experiences. 

Similarly, not every item from your childhood is meant to carry sentiment. Heirlooms can take up real estate, and the current market trends prevent young adults from purchasing homes large enough to commemorate the past while maintaining space for new memories to be created.

I know what a home full of history could look like. My mother holds affection for deep brown furnishings that are older than her and I combined. My home is a mismatched collection of desks and China cabinets curated to the tastes of family members I have never met. 

Our personal style surrenders to decades-old furnishings that have earned their value in age, not beauty. The shelves are lined with books and relics, some old and some new. I know little about their origins, but I am meant to appreciate the notion of their historical, generational significance.

There comes a time when people confronted with mounting quantities of heirlooms, like the ones that adorn my home, must make a decision. You can take on the possession and all of their legacy, or you can pass on it. Whether that means personally discarding it or allowing another member of your family to continue its legacy, this decision oftentimes is clouded by obligation.

In an article titled “Keep, Chuck, or Donate: Why Not Repurpose Those Heirlooms?” published by Psychology Today, Dena Kouremetis writes that individuals are under no true obligation to maintain or preserve heirlooms. It’s unrealistic to expect that every item offered will find a new home within the one you have already created.

Kouremetis shares why most heirlooms are passed down, stating, “In most cases, those who left them to you collected all of them because they loved them, finding it difficult to believe you wouldn’t love them too. Some were earned at great sacrifice, especially in immigrant families like my own. Others simply represent a memory of a time long past.”

 She said significance is “nuanced” and remains a “personal process.” I would argue that significance is nontransferable. 

While you can teach someone about what you believe or share your emotional connection to an heirloom, true meaning cannot be imposed and must be felt and determined by the individual. 

You cannot benefit or contribute to the legacy of an heirloom if you feel unimpacted by its story. Without the sentiment of memories, heirlooms become just stuff. Just because you let go of physical possessions does not mean the memories are lost. 

 Contact Elizabeth Pavey via email at elizabeth.pavey@bsu.edu.

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