So What's the Point?

      My heart always aches at estate sales, especially when I knew the owners.
      Colt and Monette were pioneers in our neighborhood. Now treasures they accumulated over a lifetime are selling for a pittance. Everything parceled out - like the days of their lives.    
     We sift through Colt’s tools. He was a rocket scientist back in his day, a neighbor mentions.
     I didn’t know that.
     Monette was a counselor at Columbine High School who saved students at the shooting, someone says.
     She never talked about that.
     Wasn’t it just yesterday they were here? They were frail, but I never imagined their being gone. Then Colt passed. And shortly after, Monette followed, as quietly as a falling leaf.
     We come upon her pottery collection in her kitchen. I buy a terra cotta mug and walk back home, thinking about the neighbors I thought I knew - but didn’t really.
     In my kitchen, I sip tea from Monette’s mug and glance around. Some day, Duane and I will drift away like falling leaves. All his tools and my collections will be up for sale for nickels and dimes. Folks will wander through, searching for bargains.
     So what’s the point of living anyway?
     Definitely not in treasuring “stuff.”
     I take another sip from Monette’s mug and picture the smile on her wizened face. I wish I’d made the time to know her better.     Because that’s what matters - prizing people and the God who made them.