Greeson: An estate sale can never put a price on memories

Jay Greeson

Friday morning I pulled into the driveway of the house where my parents used to live. The street was filled with cars and dozens of people waited in the driveway.

The sign read simply "Estate Sale" and, to be truthful, the thought of selling the things I remember made me feel like I was selling the pieces and parts of my life.

But it's been almost seven months since Pop died, so after weeks of preparation and planning, it was time.

I never thought of my dad as Thurston Howell III or mom as Zsa Zsa Gabor, so the whole idea of an "estate" sale seemed over the top in most ways.

Sure, they had a house full of things, because they made certain to create a home that made everyone feel welcome.