Note: This is a guest post from Joe Darago,Executive Director of The Hope Effect,and my friend for over 30 years.
I come from a large family—me and five sisters—filling every room in our little house in Northeast Ohio with laughter, noise, and life. There was never a dull moment.
My father’s side looked different. He was the only son of Joseph and Teresa, raised with two sisters who did not have children. But what they may have lacked in children, they made up for when they were there.
Aunt Marilyn and Aunt Liz were constant in our lives. They went on every vacation, attended many sporting events, and had a reserved seat at six of our graduations. They take turns investing in us—quietly and consistently.
Even when I left home for college and eventually moved out of the country, the rhythm of connection continued. Birthday cards arrive on time. The calls were never forgotten. Milestones always brought a message or a visit. Their love was strong—light in the moment, but great in weight.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always loved family—a value that has shaped many of my life decisions.
About ten years ago, both Aunt Marilyn and Aunt Liz began to face life challenges. In a good act of caring for each other, they moved into the same house to help each other recover and cut costs.
However, one thing they did not skimp on was their belongings.
Our family has never been good at letting things go. The boxes in the sunroom held writings from our great-grandfather. Grandma’s furniture filled every corner of the living room. And the muddy basement was filled with leftovers from the family’s old store—things long since unused but still quietly taking up space.
This past weekend, I went back to Ohio to say goodbye to Aunt Liz. As the family pastor, I had the privilege of presiding over the funerals of my last two aunts.
The service was profound. Friends and family come to pay their respects, share stories, and support each other in our grief. As I stood there, listening and leading, I was reminded—again—of what is truly important in life.
No one talked about his things. Not once.
But everyone spoke about how they felt.
How was he there?
How he faithfully encouraged others, even in quiet ways.
Of course, although no one talked about her belongings during the service, she and my other aunt left a lot of tangible things to fix. My sister and I have been tasked with handling these things in a way that respects our family and her wishes.
Thankfully, Aunt Liz realized the end was near a year before she passed. And in that last moment, he made deliberate decisions—quiet but impactful—that made a big difference.
Here are a few things he has done that have been very helpful, and I am sharing them in the hope that they may help others going through the same path:
3 Things My Aunt Did That Made Goodbyes Easy
1. He founded the Fund
Aunt Liz owned two homes, had several retirement accounts from previous jobs, had life insurance, and was an avid coin collector. Knowing how difficult this could be, he worked with an expert to set up a trust, appoint an executor, and clearly spell out who would receive it.
This one step saved my sister—who was an executor—many hours and headaches. More importantly, it helped us to avoid confusion or conflict about finances. Money has a way of squeezing even close families. Because Liz had planned ahead, we were free to grieve without arguments.
2. Simplify Where You Can
My aunt was the keeper of our family’s history and secrets. He was very proud of our heritage, always sharing stories of the past—names, places, and times most of us would have forgotten if it weren’t for him. In many ways, he was the cloud of our family.
As a result, her home overflowed with the artifacts of generations—pictures, furniture, books, and memorabilia she couldn’t bear to part with.
However, in his last year, something changed. While his home was still full of plains, it was clear that he had started to simplify. The closets have been cleaned a little. Papers are filed and labeled. Some things were set aside to be donated.
These small acts of preparation made a big difference. They take a load off our shoulders—and serve as a quiet reminder that even a small intention can have a lasting impact.
3. He spoke about important things
Perhaps Aunt Liz’s most important gift was her willingness to talk about death—openly, honestly, and quietly. He had personal conversations with one of us, asking us to consider taking on some responsibilities when he was gone.
One of us was going to take care of her elderly pets. One was carrying on a family Christmas tradition that he had lovingly kept for years. And someone, he said, will need to take up the mantle of family history.
I gladly accepted the role—and over the next few months, he began assigning me certain things when he found them. Old pictures. Handwritten letters. Notes explain why something is important.
Neither of us enjoyed those conversations. But we are all thankful to have them. They save us the pain of guessing what’s important to him and bring clarity to the difficult process of sorting through what’s left.
I know I am not alone in this experience.
Many of us have elderly parents, relatives, or lifelong friends who will all leave behind more than just memories. Along with grief, they may leave behind decisions—about things, money, pets, traditions, and heirs. And it will fall to us to sort through what is left.
The question is: how can we prepare now for what we know is coming?
3 Simple, Loving Steps We Can All Take
1. Start a conversation.
It may sound awkward at first, but starting a conversation is a gift for everyone involved. Start small. Ask reasonable questions: Is there a will? Power of attorney for life challenges? What are their hopes when the unexpected happens?
These are not easy topics, so approach them with empathy. The goal is not to control—to understand what is most important and respect it.
2. Listen to the news.
Behind everything is memory. Often, the story is more important than the thing itself. Ask why something is important. Don’t be afraid to ask open-ended questions that invite discussion.
Questions like:What is the story behind this? Who gave it to you? Why have you been saving it all these years?it can unlock important family history.
For pictures:Where was this taken? Who are these? What happened that day?
For letters or inheritance:Did this belong to someone else in the family? What does it remind you of?
Listening patiently, without rushing, respects the person and gives meaning to the things left behind.
Pro tip: write the words behind the pictures. Aunt Liz didn’t, and now I’m putting together references from extended family members.
3. Don’t wait to express your feelings at the funeral.
At aunt’s service, I invited others to speak. The room is filled with beautiful memories and heartfelt words. But as I listened, I couldn’t help but wonder—had Liz heard these things while she was still alive?
Don’t wait. Tell your loved ones what they mean to you now. Say the words. Let them feel your gratitude, your praise, and your love while they are waiting to receive you.
Minimalism isn’t just about letting go of things. It’s about living with purpose and preparing with love. The intentional steps Aunt Liz took in her last year didn’t just lighten our burden—they reminded us of what really matters.
May we all be brave enough to start a conversation, kind enough to keep stories, and wise enough to talk about our love while there is still time.
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Joe Darago has served as the Executive Director of The Hope Effect since its inception in 2015. He and his Christie live in Edmond OK where they enjoy parenting their four grown children and two grandparents + one on the way. He is passionate about changing the way the world cares for orphans… because all children deserve a family.