If my parents had gotten rid of their own stuff I wouldn't have batted an eye. But leaving it for me to take care of felt like a betrayal of their memory. I know logically that it wasn't but it felt like it. They seriously believed we would want everything they had down to a matchstick. So I know there was hurt when we all said no to just about everything. I was hoping after my mom died that my dad would help me clean the house out. It was then that I found he was the bigger pack rat of the "junk". Throwing things away that might have a purpose somewhere, somehow was just criminal to him. I prayed for a meteor to hit the place.