If you're a hoarder, you have kids and you love them, stop it. Now. The hoarding, not the loving. Going through the belongings of a deceased person is hard enough without it being an exercise in trips to the rubbish dump.
Also, Mum kept a lot of things that were around when we were little. They have little value other than sentimental, but it's kind of heartwrenching to know she still had the spice rack my brother made for her in school, and the Fimo cat we made together when I was 7.
Also, we have a family heirloom. It's a prayer book that was given to a great-great-great aunt in 1867, and each person who's had it has written their name into the front since then. The last is my Dad in 1966. Now it's our turn. That feels weird too. But the book is very cool, and it's one of those things that's nice to have even though we never use it.
Anyway, enough morbidity.
This is cool: the guy that photobombed ComiCon. On a similar note, the word 'cosplay' sounds much more sinister than it actually is. For some reason, I associate the word 'play', if not applied to children, with sexual practices that folks whisper behind their hands about. Witness: pony play. Now, I don't think there's anything wrong with pony play, but take 'cos' being short for costumes.. you see where I'm going with this? And no, furry culture does not help with the connotation. Apologies to those who are into cosplay, I have a filthy filthy mind.
* Truth be told, Dad's in a hole around the roots of a tree, so he'd find it hard to spin. Instead he'd probably just haunt me. Much like he does now, I guess.