Move after move, the important stuff stays

Stuff. Stuff. Stuff.

I am sick of stuff.

While moving my family this week from our home of the past five years, I found stuff everywhere.

Stuff behind the couches. Stuff under the bed. Stuff hidden in drawers. Stuff I hadn't seen in years and stuff I swear I already threw out.

So I sorted through the years of stuff that I don't need, don't want or can't identify.

I finally admitted defeat and threw out the 20 unmatched socks I've been saving for years. But I did find the C to my daughter's alphabet puzzle — a personal triumph.

Everywhere I looked there was more stuff to cram and squeeze into our 24-foot moving truck. Oh, you'd think that would be enough room to fit the belongings of our family of three, but it wasn't.

I'm telling you, we have too much stuff.

And once all that stuff was rolling down the street in that truck, I walked back into my empty home. There was no more stuff. There was nothing left to pack, nothing left to clean.

There was just nothing.

I walked through our stuff-free home, which has seen a lot of changes in our little family in the past five years.

Although the stuff was gone, I could still see the moments that defined my life in that house. I saw myself running to meet my husband in the hallway to tell him I was pregnant.

I saw the blue and purple nursery walls that my husband painted when I was 8 months pregnant, and he was exhausted from assembling the crib.

In my empty bedroom I could still envision the scene on the night when I first brought my daughter, Nicole, home from the hospital. I lay on the bed crying while she wailed in her bassinet, and my husband stood looking on bewildered.

I could also hear the echoes of our lives within those empty rooms.

I heard Nicole splashing in the bathtub. Echoes of her daddy reading "Horton Hears a Who" danced down the hall.

I could hear the pitter-pat of her first steps on the kitchen floor and the muffled hum of the baby monitor.

I could hear the doorbell announcing friends bringing lemon bars for no reason and the opening of the garage door signaling that daddy was home.

And most importantly, I heard that soft little voice whispering, "I love you, Mommy," at bedtime.

I cried as I heard all these noises of my life. I sobbed as I walked through my empty house to say goodbye.

That's when it hit me.

I didn't have to say goodbye to those sounds or those memories. They are mine — for keeps. I don't even have to find room for them in a moving truck with the rest of our stuff.

No matter where I go, no matter where I call home, I get to take those memories with me.

And that's the stuff worth saving.

Erin Stewart's blog, Just4Mom, can be found Tuesdays and Thursdays at deseretnews.com.

e-mail: estewart@desnews.com