“When someone you love becomes a memory, their memory becomes a treasure.”

I don’t remember where I’ve heard that quote from, but it is one that has been on my mind for awhile now. My grandfather is my treasure.

I can still remember the day he died. It was August 1, 2009. I moved to my new house, and he only ever saw it once. I was about to go to my church’s sport camp that day, and my mom got a call at work saying her father died. My dad called my brother and I to the stair case, and he told us our grandpa died. In all honesty, I had hoped it was his own father instead.

Not a day goes by where I wish he was still here. He would love how I cut my hair in such a fancy style. He would accept the fact that I am half male, half female. He would love to see me dressed in the dark clothes I typically wear. He would just love me.

As humans, we all have a treasure. While mine is the memory of my grandpa, the man I never felt fully connected to until after he died, an object can be someone else’s.

I have a friend who is Spanish, and she celebrated her Quinceanera when she was fifteen like all other girls typically do. You wear a beautiful, fancy dress, and you never throw it away because of the memories it holds. It’s a treasure.

Unfortunately for her, someone threw the dress away. The fact that an object that holds so many treasured memories is now gone breaks my heart. There was such a significant value on the dress to her, and it’s gone because someone didn’t understand the value of that item to her.

I feel as though that’s a problem with people. We will see an object and not think much of it, but it could be the most treasured item to that one person. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure completely makes sense here because it’s so true.

We need to stop seeing all of these things in the world as what they are and make judgments about it, because we don’t know what it could mean to someone else.


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