Old Photos, Full Hearts

What personal belongings do you hold most dear?

You ever think about the stuff you’d grab if your house was on fire? Like, assuming your family’s safe—including the four-legged, tail-wagging ones who think they own the couch—what would you take?

I used to think my answer would be something practical. You know, the usual suspects: my phone, my wallet, maybe even the keys to the car. But the more I’ve thought about it over the years, the more I’ve realized: those things don’t really matter. They can be replaced. They’re tools. Useful? Sure. Dear to me? Not really.

What I’d actually grab—what I hold closest to my heart—are the old photos of my parents.

They’re not in fancy frames or perfect condition. Some are a little faded, corners bent, stuck in sleeves that have yellowed with time. But they’re everything to me.

Both of my parents have passed on. There’s this strange emptiness in life that sets in when the people who raised you are no longer just a phone call away. You start holding tighter to what they left behind, not because the items themselves are valuable, but because of the memories they carry.

These photos… they take me back.

There’s one of my dad in his old couch, beer in hand, that lopsided grin on his face like he just cracked the world’s dumbest joke and couldn’t be prouder. There’s another of my mom in the kitchen, caught mid-laugh, wearing one of those old aprons she always swore she’d throw out but never did. That photo practically smells like Sunday dinner and feels like a warm hug.

I don’t have much from them. A few trinkets. Maybe a watch, a scarf. But the photos? They’re what I reach for when I miss them the most.

They’re reminders of where I come from. Of how my dad’s quiet strength still echoes in the way I try to handle things. Of how my mom’s kindness shows up in how I talk to people—even when I’m having a crap day. They’re proof that even though they’re gone, their presence still lingers in the little things.

So yeah, I love my pets—more than most people, to be honest—but they’re not belongings. They’re family. And my phone? It’s just a screen full of apps and texts I mostly ignore. My car gets me places. But those photos? They take me home.

If you’ve still got your people around, take more pictures. Print them. Hold them in your hands. One day, they might be the most valuable thing you own.

They are for me.