The vibrant yellow is a bright contrast to the surrounding clothes’ pastel colors. The yellow is paired with black fabric and creatively fashioned into a baby’s bee costume. Although it’s at least nine years old, the yellow hasn’t faded and neither has the charming look, or my fond memories of buying it. I was at my friend’s church for a fundraiser. None of my three adult children had children at the time, but when this cute little item went up for sale, bidding novice though I was, I held my number up high and often. It was pure speculation on my part that the costume would ever be worn. Not every mother becomes a grandmother and there were no promises on the horizon. Another friend who was with me was amazed at my bidding prowess, especially for an item I had no use for at the time, and no guarantees about the future.

The evening ended happily with me eagerly buying the bee costume. I later gave it as a shower gift to my youngest child for her daughter, my firstborn grandchild. Recently the costume was marked to sell at a children’s clothing sale. I scrutinized it for signs of wear, although such an item has few occasions for wear and tear. For a moment I contemplated buying it. The familiar refrain played in my mind. “You don’t need that. What will you do with it? You’re trying to downsize not add to your possessions.” Very true, but one little outfit can be squeezed in anywhere. It’s difficult letting go.

Spring rains this year wreaked havoc with people’s possessions, homes, and lives. Midwest weather seems to operate on extremes, either too much or not enough. The happy middle is tough to attain. People saw their precautionary plans vanish in the flow of all that water. My daughter’s home was one of those where the basement became a pool of wet destruction. After considerable effort, the water flowed outward and cleanup began.

Some people’s basements are a hit and miss effort. This particular one was a model of organization with keepsakes properly stored in tubs with lids and lined up on shelving units. Even that was no match for the over two feet of water that flooded the lower level. Tears, dismay, an overwhelming concern of where to begin, and the unspoken question of why this happened given the seemingly excellent preparedness marked my daughter and son-in-law’s thoughts early that Thursday morning.

Eventually the water subsided, as did tears of frustration and loss. The sorting of items, and the disposal of those not suitable for keeping consumed hours. The sentimentality tied up neatly in those collectibles and keepsakes made it painfully sad to see them ruined. But during the difficult sorting and cleaning time came the realization that things, regardless of cost or sentimentality, aren’t what matter most. Rather it’s the memories they evoke, which remain forever no matter how destructive the water.

Good friends’ generous response in helping serve as constant, beautiful reminders that possessions aren’t essentials, not even a cute bee costume. What really matters is how lives are affected by kindness, sweet memories, thoughtfulness, and determination to keep trying, whatever the challenge. Even a flooded basement can serve as a positive life lesson for always.