During the years in which I served on the Generations Editorial Advisory Board (1990–2012) and chaired it (1997–2001), single-themed issues of the journal were not so much assembled (as at a conventional journal) as curated. At in-person meetings of the board, members batted around potential topics for future issues. These might be updates about perennial matters in aging or aging services. Or they could be entirely new takes on the field that deserved readers’ attention. Critical to each proposed issue of Generations would be a guest editor who could outline a solid and provocative issue and be able to recruit authors for specific articles.

Topics that survived the winnowing and acquired a guest editor would then be reviewed with that editor at a subsequent meeting of the board. The guest editor’s proposal for the issue was aired out and the suggestions for tweaks flowed freely: perhaps more context for this topic, perhaps sharper policy implications, perhaps add a case description, perhaps so-and-so would be a great author for that article.

When the gabfest had run its course, the guest editor departed the meeting accompanied by the Generations editor—Mary Johnson at that time. She would conduct the “walk to the elevator” whose purpose was to pass along this message: “That was an energetic discussion! However, you need not heed all of our suggestions. Use your best judgement about the issue. We trust you.”

The article that I prize from this period appeared in the Fall 1996 (Vol. 20, No. 3) issue: “From Generation to Generation: Thoughts on Legacy.” This was one of those innovative and interdisciplinary topics, and it was guest-edited by the formidable Rosalie Kane who, after her death in 2020, was credited by ASA for “fierce creativity and independence of thought.” Her issue on legacy explored those things that we leave behind for our survivors: memories, estates, possessions, assets, meaning.

“Cherished Possessions: The Meaning of Things” by Sheldon S. Tobin was the article that I discovered in this issue. It went straight into my reprint file because at that time I was beginning a new line of research and wanted to ground myself in the literature on older adults and how they regard and manage their possessions. Here was a compact, authoritative review of research on the importance of cherished possessions as objects of reminiscence, as vessels for conveying our values and sense of self to others, and as a way “to enhance the coherence of one’s life story … in the face of change.”

Distributing special things to others, the article noted, “can often be perplexing”—the very thing that I wanted to study. Written in that confident “encyclopedia voice” that Generations coaxes from its authors, this article would become a cornerstone of my lit reviews.

Shelly Tobin was likewise a formidable figure in our field. He had studied at the University of Chicago with the storied Committee on Human Development, whose scholars were contributing so much foundational thinking to aging and life-course studies. With Bernice Neugarten and Robert Havighurst, he was an author of the classic 1961 paper in gerontology, “The Measurement of Life Satisfaction.”

To date, it has been cited nearly 5,000 times. Tobin became known for his writing about care in long-term settings and about the preservation of self in later life. As editor-in-chief of The Gerontologist, he encouraged me in my early career attempt to publish an essay in 1986 about the ubiquitous “busy” expectation of retirees. Shelly Tobin was important to the field and he was important to me.

This single article about possessions was at once an instrument for my research, a link to the generative forces and personalities in gerontology, and is now an object of reminiscence about editorial board colleagues who enjoyed their work and one another. Peering into Generations, I am grateful for the knowledge and scholarship, but more, for the less expected gift of community.

David J. Ekerdt, PhD, is a professor emeritus of Sociology and Gerontology at the University of Kansas (KU). From 1988 to 1997 he was associate director of the Center on Aging and associate professor of Family Medicine at the University of Kansas Medical Center. He directed the KU Gerontology Center from 2003 to 2016. He teaches the sociology of aging and research methods.

Photo credit: Shutterstock/Light and Vision

From Generation to Generation: Thoughts on Legacy

By Rosalie A. Kane, Guest Editor

The giving and receiving of legacies can evoke elemental emotions: hope, longing, fear, dread, anxiety, jealousy, bitterness, a sense of failure or of accomplishment, pride, contentment, joy, gratitude, humility, rage, love. Those planning legacies take stock of their accomplishments and disappointments, inventory their pos­ sessions, and reflect, with varying consciousness, on the people, work, ideas, commitments, and social institutions that have given their lives shape and meaning. One of the many euphemisms for dying—passing on—is also a term for transmission of material and immaterial legacies. The task of the deliberate legator is to determine what he or she wishes to pass on to others, and how he or she wishes to be remembered.

Some people delay planning for intergenerational transfers via legacies, and others deal only erratically and incompletely with a subject that reminds them of their inevitable deaths. Others develop an almost obsessive preoccupation with their estates and distribution of their property. Perhaps this attention stems from a need to exert power (not by accident is it called a will , or perhaps from a desire to fulfill perceived obligations properly and fairly and to enable those they love to flourish. People may also act so as to be remembered with love and admiration.

Some older people become engrossed in giving away their possessions in their lifetimes, perhaps situating valued objects with people expected to treasure them. Others go to great effort to swell the liquid value of estates by selling antiques, jewelry, and other collectibles rather than burdening heirs with those decisions (or trusting them to appreciate the monetary value of the items). Still others, perhaps while moving to a smaller living space, grieve the lack of people who crave their mementos.

From a different perspective, those who expect or receive a legacy from someone important in their lives experience such a bequest as the last gift, praise, judgment, instruction, or rejection, culminating what may have been a long, complex relationship. Whether positive or negative, the message of a legacy given or withheld is all the more powerful because it literally was the last word.

The challenge of planning this Generations issue began with establishing the boundaries for the subject. Clearly, legacy includes “last wills and testaments” and their implications. But the subject also could be construed broadly to focus on how people want to be remembered. In that latter sense, people can deliberately shape their legacies; public figures may consciously try to shape the way history will see them, and many people prepare family histories for the following generations. However, one's legacy, in the sense of how one will be remembered, is largely out of one's own control. History renders the verdict, which may be reevaluated over time. Thus, we speak of the legacy of various leaders and scholars now dead, and similarly of the legacy of our acquaintances in terms of enduring ideas, values, and images that their memory evokes.

With the exception of the steady stream of work on life review, personal identity and meaning in later years, and reminiscence, which all relate to intangible legacies, legacy is barely treated in aging studies. Most of us approach the subject of legacy personally—from our store of experiences and anecdotes, with images derived as much from novels, films, and religious traditions as from a body of research or theory. Indeed, many of the authors in this issue draw from personal recollections and from general writings, including mythology, the Bible, popular literature, and history.

Medicaid and Legacy

My professional interest in legacy was initially sparked by a circumscribed public policy topic, which I have dubbed the “legacy legitimation crisis.” In a nutshell, the question is: To what extent should those receiving public subsidy for long-term-care (LTC) expenses through Medicaid be permitted to conserve resources to pass on to heirs after they themselves “pass on”? Should those who have relied on Medicaid for their LTC even expect to leave a material legacy?

In the United States, LTC expenditures are viewed as goods to be purchased out of private income (other examples are housing, clothing, and food) rather than as goods to be fully or partly purchased for all citizens out of tax dollars (like, for example, primary and secondary education, defense, roads, and, for elderly people, hospital care and physician services). LTC falls under the so-called “safety net” provisions (that is, the set of policies that provide a minimum package of public benefits for poor people only) rather than under universal entitlements (that is, benefits that would be made available to citizens regardless of their financial status). Thus, tax dollars can be used to help finance nursing home care (and indeed are so used to the tune of billions of dollars), but only to benefit those too poor to foot their own bills. Moreover, in keeping with the safety net philosophy, the standard of public provision is kept low. Beyond the needed healthcare, the safety net for the resident on Medicaid offers meals, sleeping space in a double room, and a minimal personal-needs allowance. Basic care and sustenance are provided, but not at the level whereby the older person could afford, say, a television, telephone, or private room.

Nursing home care has become extraordinarily expensive, capable of wiping out substantial savings in a matter of months. Although almost all elderly nursing home residents are guaranteed an income (through Social Security, a universal benefit), this income is insufficient to meet nursing home costs, and those without other substantial sources of income must revert to Medicaid. Alarmed about public LTC expenditures, presently largely in nursing homes, some public officials and state legislators speculate that many elderly people have given away their wealth prior to entering a nursing home (known as "divestment") so that they can immediately benefit by Medicaid.

People cannot simply give away their money, apply for Medicaid, and enter a nursing home on the same day. Federal and state rules render such a plan impossible. Indeed, if the nursing home resident has transferred any assets within three years with the intent of becoming eligible for nursing home care, he or she is dubbed ineligible for Medicaid coverage. The notion is that the money thus “divested” must be somewhere, and the premature “inheritors” should use it to pay for the care. And people who divest assets ahead of time in a long­range plan to become eligible for Medicaid coverage of nursing homes take considerable risk. Essentially, they become financially dependent, not a step to be taken lightly.

Recently public policy makers have turned renewed attention to the family home, which is not counted as an asset when Medicaid eligibility is calculated if the older person in a nursing home has any chance of returning to it or if a spouse, minor child, or child with a disability is living in it. Such homes could be worth substantial sums, which the state could collect after the death of the nursing home resident and, when applicable, other occupants. States have long had such laws on the books, but have enforced chem weakly and haphazardly. Since 1993, however, federal law has required states to actively claim the homes of deceased nursing home residents-a process called “estate recovery.”

Divestment, Medicaid eligibility policies, and estate recovery policies have become incendiary topics, polarized and engendering passionate rhetoric. On one side, advocates tell heart-wrenching tales of older people with disabilities who are stripped of their life savings, pauperized and stigmatized, forced into the indignities of life on Medicaid in a nursing home with incomes of less than $60 a month (what some states allow for personal expenditures for Medicaid recipients) to negotiate life’s exigencies. This is hardly enough for greeting cards and toiletries; certainly not enough to finance a cab ride and a movie or concert or baseball game—and surely an unfitting reward for a person who, perhaps mindful of Aesop’s fable about the grasshopper and ant, labored hard for a lifetime and saved frugally. This view also depicts anguished relatives, struggling with college tuition for their children, or, more likely, given the advanced age of most nursing home residents, struggling with their own retirement needs and their competing wishes to help their adult children or even their grandchildren buy homes and finance postsecondary educations.

On the other side, proponents of tightening up Medicaid contemptuously depict greedy seniors who divest or sequester resources to qualify for Medicaid, distorting the intent of the benefit and draining funds from truly needy people. Longman (1995) refers to them as “pretend paupers” and excoriates the elder-law attorneys who assist them in developing long-range, lawful strategies to position themselves to use Medicaid for LTC funding. He quotes a state Medicaid director as saying: “We now have a cottage industry in this state of attorneys who encourage their clients to avoid their responsibilities.” Spokespeople for LTC insurance especially argue in favor of clamping down on what they consider easy middle-class welfare payments for nursing home residents. Why should anyone buy apples if they are being given away across the street? And why should anyone pay premiums for LTC insurance if they can become eligible for the benefits by divestment when the time comes?

Rebuttals point out that LTC insurance is beyond the purse of most people, that the insurance products are problematic, and that nursing homes (to imitate the politically popular phrase about welfare in the 1996 election year) “as we know them” are a dreaded end-point for those who have worked and saved and supported family and country over a lifetime.

Why is this topic so controversial? Why does an elderly Medicaid recipient in a nursing home conjure up such diverse images: an exploited, powerless individual whose life has been robbed of meaning versus a free rider who exploits fellow citizens and public coffers for the benefit of heirs? Why does the subject strike such a deep vein of feeling, which is evidenced by the astounding attack and counterattack rhetoric assembled in a remarkable law review article by Jan Ellen Rein (1996)?

As I have suggested elsewhere (1995), the debate is so controversial because it strikes squarely at an area of public policy that has been characterized by ambivalence, ambiguity, and animosity: chat is, the desirable mix of universal entitlements and means­tested programs in the United States. The debate is also controversial because authorities disagree on the faces-whether stricter eligibility procedures, estate recovery practices, and perhaps relative-responsibility laws would represent budgetary salvation or the proverbial “blood from a scone”; if the latter, these efforts are not worth their cost or the loss of social solidarity. And, whether real or mythical, rare or ubiquitous, once­ wealthy older people in nursing homes at public expense (and the lawyers representing chem) have become scapegoats for the ills of a society experiencing budget crunches and deeply resenting taxation.

Legacy in Broad Context

The issue at the Medicaid-legacy nexus, which was sketched out above, is particular to federalism and health­ care policy in the United States at the end of the twentieth century. Yet further exploration requires a much more general look at the topic of legacy. Why does it feel right to me that governments subsidize LTC rather than ask older people to deplete their savings to pay for a final year or so in a nursing home? Why does it seem tragic that these same people must live as paupers?

To help inform the public policy debate, we need to explore why industrial societies, specifically the United States, cake as a given the right of people co direct their resources after their death. What, if any, proper societal purposes are achieved by such rights? What curbs, if any, should be placed on unrestricted individual decision-­making—for example, in the form of laws requiring particular distributions or prohibiting ochers? What legitimate interests does the body politic have in taxing legacies? Should legacy policies be reconsidered in the light of current economic realities and lengthened life expectancy? We also need to explore the meaning of legacy co individuals. Why do older people themselves avoid accepting help for financing LTC, including community-based care, if the condition is that they must apply for Medicaid and abandon the notion of bequeathing their home? Is leaving some tangible legacy so important, and, if so, why? Information and analysis are not readily available to answer these broader questions. For example, one looks in vain for contemporary philosophical, ethical, or political analyses about the social utility of inheritances and legacies.

The rest of this issue of Generations is organized into three sections, fol­lowed by my concluding thoughts about the future agenda on legacy.

Macro-Perspectives

Section one of this issue, Legal, Moral, and Policy Perspectives, explores the uncharted territory of legacy using one of the strengths of gerontology: a genuinely multidisciplinary approach and a respect for wisdom derived from practice and daily human experience. In the lead article, Lawrence Frolik summarizes the law in the United States about bequeathing material possessions, co­ gently describing what can and can­ not be done, the legal vehicles available, and the principles by which an individual might decide on distributing an estate. Next Colleen O'Connor, also an attorney, reviews the sketchy empirical evidence about legacies and inheritances, an elusive topic co study. Sarah-Vaughan Brakman, a philosopher, follows with a careful analysis of whether, from a moral perspective, an older person owes a legacy to offspring and, if so, why. Then, Rose Dobrof and Harry Moody address the fascinating issue of philanthropy. As an alternative or an adjunct to leaving wealth to family and friends, another option is to establish charitable legacies. Health and human services organizations and universities have long been beneficiaries of such largesse, which is used on behalf of people and causes that many deem important (e.g., healing the sick, protecting the old and vulnerable, giving opportunity to talented students, nourishing the spirit through the arcs). Yet little attention has been devoted co studying chis charitable impulse philosophically, sociologically, or psychologically. Next Stephen Sapp discusses how the most dominant religious traditions in the United States (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) view the giving and receiving of legacies, and how these views are incorporated into a larger frame­ work of the responsibilities of chil­dren to parents, parents to children, and members of communities to each other.

The last two articles in section one move toward the political. Joanna Weinberg explores a different side of legacy: the legacy inherent in the social compact by which resources are redistributed across individuals and generations (usually through tax dol­ lars) to underwrite certain social guarantees. These expected legacies may include clean air and water, safe streets, and schools and universities where the accumulated wisdom of ages is stored and can be tapped by successive generations. They may also include a cushion against life’s vicissitudes—a guaranteed minimal income, healthcare, or even long-term care. Weinberg points to the links be­ tween personal legacy—in other words, what people are allowed to ac­ cumulate and disperse privately in their lives and after their deaths-and the extent of the societal legacy that the community can provide.

Section one concludes with an article by William Crown, who examines a relatively narrow but fascinating aspect of this relationship: how state policies on estate taxes can be counterproductive if they lead to reduced income tax because residents change their state of primary residence. His work highlights the difficulties of developing an alignment of benefits, tax obligations, and incentives in a federal system, a topical thought given the trend of the mid-199os to further the devolution of welfare policies and programs to the state level.

Legacy and Meaning

Using insights from social, psychological, and anthropological research, clinical practice, and creative literature, the articles in section two, Legacy and Meaning, explore various aspects of the importance of legacies (tangible or intangible, of great monetary value or no monetary value) in the lives of people. Sheldon Tobin dis­cusses cherished possessions and the meaning they hold, not only for younger people who may have inherited them, but for elderly people who treasure objects that they too perceive as legacies-reminders of people and times gone by. Helen Kivnick, a lifespan psychologist, describes the legacies older people create in imparting wisdom gained over a lifetime to successive generations. She points out that for such a legacy in the form of story and precept to be realized, both a teller and a listener are needed; a contemporary tragedy might be the dearth of willing listeners. Wendy Lustbader takes another important tack, pointing out that, willy-nilly, the subject of legacy involves the wielding of power, perhaps necessary but often psychologically potent. She notes the deep hurt that occurs among siblings who interpret testamentary arrangements as rejection, and she makes practical suggestions on how such pain might be averted.

Much thinking about legacy deals with direct family lines. Robert Rubenstein describes a particularly difficult case of legacy—how those who never had children or have no surviving children create a meaningful legacy, tangible or otherwise. In contrast, Norah Keating describes a different predicament—that of the owner of a valuable family farm who has an embarrassment of possible heirs for an asset that is not readily divisible. Besides, the aging farmer may be unready to turn over that farm when one or more possible heirs are ready to manage it. Referring to the “Prince Charles syndrome,” Keating raises a theme that is relevant more generally: that is, with increasing life expectancies, perhaps our notions of legacy after death need to be reshaped into discussions about transfers made during one's lifetime. Certainly gerontologists have long been aware that such transfers occur and that they more often flow from older to younger than the other way around.

Finally, Anne Wyatt-Brown, literary scholar and gerontologist, invites us into the realm of English-language novels co explore the way legacy has been approached in selected nineteenth- and twentieth-century works. Surely it is no accident that the perpetuation of legacies through wills and other arrangements is the staple of fine literature, as well as of popular culture (e.g., family saga novels, television and movie dramas, mystery fiction). Wyatt-Brown shows us that the insights of fiction writers can vastly expand a topic by putting it in historical and geographic context and, more important, articulating psychological insights. To take just one of her many examples, her analysis of George Eliot's novel Middlemarch evokes the thought that a legacy of ill-gotten origin perhaps should be rejected.

Divestment and Estate Recovery Policies

Section three, Divestment and Estate Recovery Policies, turns to the current policy issue on Medicaid eligibility and legacy that piqued my interest in the first place. Scott Severns, an elder-law attorney, describes the view from his office, where his clients must struggle with their own individual requirements (often idiosyncratic) for personal security, their perceived familial obligations, and their plans for their own old age. Joshua Wiener, an economist who has empirically modeled the affordability of LTC insurance, discusses what is at stake financially: that is, the incomes and assets of older people and the likely amounts to be recovered by stricter policies more strictly applied to make sure people pay for their own care, or that their families do. Brian Burwell and William Crown describe federal and state policies related to Medicaid eligibility and empirical data about their application in selected states. Erica Wood and Charles Sabatino similarly describe federal and state policies on Medicaid estate recovery, which, they argue, are patently unfair in that they mainly affect those who have least. Finally, Mary Olsen Baker presents and discusses four cases, each of which highlights complex ethical issues that arise in trying to apply current policies fairly across older people and across generations.

If readers move through the articles in sequence, the public policy issues treated in section three will no longer seem cut-and-dried or obvious. The subject strikes at a very human need for meaningful personal legacy and an enduring societal need for lasting social guarantees, both of which must flow, in the words of the Hebrew scriptures, “from generation to generation.”

References

Kane, R. A. 1995. “Medicaid Eligibility, Divestment, and Estate Recovery: Introduction to Conference Report on ‘Who Owes Whom What?’ ” In R. A. Kane, L. Starr, and M. 0. Baker, eds., Who Owes Whom What?: Personal, Family, and Public Responsibility for Paying for Long-Tern Care. Minneapolis, Minn.: University of Minnesota National Long-Term Care Resource Center.

Longman, P. 1995. “Pretend Paupers: Florida’s Medicaid Program is Turning into a Middle-Class and Well-to-Do Inheritance Protection Scheme. Who Pays? The Taxpayers and Poor Sick Children.” Florida Trend Magazine 38: 40–5.

Rein, J.E. 1996. “Misinformation and Self-Deception in Recent Long-Term Care Policy Trends.” University of Virginia Journal of Law and Politics 7:19s–340. (Published by University of Virginia.)

Cherished Possessions: The Meaning of Things

By Sheldon S. Tobin

The frail, gnarled woman in her nineties takes out a snapshot taken at least 50 years ago and says, “That’s me in this picture, but I may have changed a little bit.” The young interviewer is at first confused but then realizes that the purpose of the photo is to convey a sense of the self—immutable in the here-and-now (Tobin, 1991).

Sherman and Newman (1977–78), in the first study that focused on cherished possessions of the elderly, found photos to be the most cherished. Later, Csikszentmihalyi and Rochberg­Halton (1981) in their book The Meaning of Things reported that photos were grandparents’ highest-ranked special objects in a three-generational study. The grandparents contrasted with parents, who ranked furniture highest, and children, who ranked stereos highest. Similarly, Wapner, Demick, and Redondo (1990) reported on the importance of photos as cherished objects of nursing home residents, and Sherman (1991) reported on the use of photos and other memorabilia as “reminiscentia”—inducers of memory. The other memorabilia in these reports are religious artifacts, jewelry, and consumer items such as visual art and recreational objects.

The meaningfulness of the possessions elderly people identify as cherished resides in their legacy. As people change over time, concrete objects that do not change are kept for their personal meanings. Elderly individuals must choose from a lifetime of objects, those possessions they wish to save for themselves, as a kind of bequest to themselves. These possessions are, therefore, connections to a person's own historical past. Csikszentmialyi and Rochberg-Halton (1981) wrote that “for an adult, objects serve the purpose of maintaining the continuity of the self as it expands through time.” The importance of cherished possessions for such continuity among the elderly is nowhere more evident than in relocations to long­term-care facilities because, when possessions are left behind, a “de-selfing” process ensues (Golfman, 1961).

Kamptner (1989) noted that diverse personal possessions “may assist individuals in maintaining and preserving their identities in the face of events that erode their sense of self ... and they may represent ties or bonds with others at a time of life when social losses tend to be greatest” (p. 182). An elderly Jewish widow said, “I still keep my husband's tallis (prayer shawl) as if he will come through the door and run off with it to shull to daven (to synagogue to pray).” This comment captures the essence of a cherished possession—a possession for which there is a special fondness. In turn, the special fondness is from the evocation of memories that are meaningful. When a husband of half a century has died, possessions that are reminders of him can indeed be comforting and also assuring of a sense of continuity of the self. These possessions are kept and cherished precisely because of their meaningfulness for one's personal identity.

The Deceased Among Us

The specific memories of a deceased person evoked by these cherished objects, however, need not be accurate to affirm the persistence of identity. More important is the object’s capacity to facilitate memories of a specialness in the relationship to the deceased person and to enhance the coherence of one's life story as the personal narrative is written and rewritten to preserve identity in the face of change. Often in this process of providing meaning to the evoked memory, the deceased husband, for example, becomes idealized. Lopata (1979) has referred to this idealization as “sanctification.” By sanctifying husbands, widows enhance their own sense of worthiness and self­esteem, while also dramatizing the past. Revere and Tobin (1980–81) found that when reconstructing reminiscences older people do indeed dramatize the past more than middle­aged people do. Deceased parents, as well as spouses, become bigger than life, usually quite heroic but sometimes more cruel than is to be believed. In dramatizing the past and imbuing the deceased with sometimes mythical proportions, the older person becomes vivid to herself or himself, helping to assure the preservation of the self.

Using the past to preserve the self, but not living in the past, is also evident when widows talk to photos of deceased husbands. A student asked if an elderly widow she was assigned to counsel was psychotic because she talked to her dead husband: “Every night she looks at his picture and talks to him as if he were in the room.” This behavior is rarely a symptom of psychosis, but it always reflects a process of retaining continuity and coherence of the self. Photos are not the only cherished possessions that can evoke vivid and lifelike memories of deceased people: “That picture, the oil painting of flowers on that wall, was painted by my wife. Whenever I look at it, I can still see her standing at her easel by her garden. She had a way of standing while painting that I shall never forget. Sometimes it makes me tearful.”

Recollected people are not, however, restricted to spouses and parents. The recollected person may be a grandparent or even an earlier ancestor: “This cupboard goes way back. I don't know how many generations.” Possessions from previous generations provide a sense of coherence and embeddedness in family. So too do possessions that serve as triggers to remembrances of the continuity of generations: “See the seashells over there. My daughter, when she was little and we went on vacation, would collect them with me. I loved walking with her on the sandy beach, just like I used to do with my mother.” The diverse kinds of cherished possessions—photos, religious items, jewelry, furniture, visual art, and others—can have meanings that span past and future generations: “That's a favorite picture of mine. It shows when my mother and wife were alive and my daughter, the little one, got married.”

Religious items seem especially useful for spanning the generations. Bibles, prayer books, crucifixes, and menorahs are likely to have been handed down and will, in turn, be handed to further generations. These objects also have a special function because of the importance of religious beliefs among the very old. A belief that to live beyond four score and ten is one of God’s blessings for service can indeed be comforting. So too can a belief in a hereafter that contains not only meeting one’s Maker but also reunions with deceased loved ones. Photos, therefore, of the deceased serve not only as reminders of a past life that reaffirms the present identity but also can be reminders of a future that will contain a reunion with these loved ones.

Spanning the generations suggests the experience of a family history, of a continuity with previous generations. Sometimes the cherished possession is a reminder of a parent who inherited the possession, whereas at other times, the possession comes with a story: “This is my genealogy.” She began describing who she is by handing me a heavy volume filled with genealogical charts. The inscriptions and the interesting stories they told went back to the days of the Mayflower and then through Jamestown and other places that I only know from history books. The meaning, however, always became refocused on her mother: “She was always interested in American history.” And “It was like she personally knew everyone written in our past.” Because this respondent, like her mother before her, is a Daughter of the American Revolution, the memory of her mother is inextricably woven into the fabric of her reminders of early American history. The same importance is ascribed to objects owned by ancestors not personally known but passed down through parents and other close family members—for example, genealogical records; photos, religious artifacts, furniture, or art work. From this psychological perspective, inherited cherished possessions passed down from long-dead ancestors possess their meaning through parents and other close family members with whom there has been significant intimacy.

Passing on Cherished Possessions

Sometimes the most cherished of possessions has an idiosyncratic meaning that limits its value to others. A lonely 83-year-old woman who has been widowed for twenty-two years has a shrine in the living room for her dog Rufus, who died eight months ago and whom she raised from a puppy. A leash hangs from the shrine, and as she talks, she glances over to the shrine and says, "Whenever I feel lonely, I stroke the leash. I'm looking forward to seeing Rufus again.” The leash could not possibly have a similar meaning to anyone else.

Yet there are many possessions that have shared meanings. The octogenarian said, “This is a children’s broach that I inherited from my grandmother. I'm not sure who to give it to. My Lisa, she’s my favorite grandchild, is going to have a baby. If it's a girl she should have it.” This legacy spans six generations: from a grandparent to the speaker and from the speaker to a great granddaughter.

What to give to whom—and when—can often be perplexing. Some possessions arc bequeathed, to be given after death, whereas others arc given during one’s lifetime, at confirmations, bar mitzvahs, or weddings. When relocating to a smaller home after adult children have moved, there is a stripping-down of possessions and a likelihood of passing some cherished possessions to children. Usually, difficult choices must be made by families regarding what should be given to children at this time and what should be kept after the move to a smaller home. Women are likely to be particularly concerned about the loss of furniture because of the future shortage of space. Men, in turn, may be concerned about adequate space for possessions associated with work and recreation. It is as death approaches in advanced old age, that a final sorting­out occurs and determinations are made regarding who gets what.

As people live longer, however, and are progenitors of four- and five-generation families, giving may be to children for distribution co their lineage. Troll (1994), for example, found that among respondents 85 years of age and over, closeness was with their children, and they often did not have a direct connection with grandchildren. She noted regarding these relationships chat “most of these very old people’s relationships with grandchildren seemed to be spillovers from their closeness to their children. Particularistic relationships could exist with one grandchild and not another” (p. 57). Children were more likely to be referred to by name, whereas grandchildren are referred to as “my grandchildren” or “my son's children.” One 89-ycar-old widow said, “Money I'll divide between my three sons, but the jewelry and art, I don’t know. I don’t know what all my grandchildren would appreciate.” This woman has viable heirs, but apparently many of the very old do not. Whereas 95 percent of the sample that Troll studied had living relatives, “almost one­fourth had no interaction with any of them or just exchanged Christmas cards and/or an annual phone call” (p. 54). Still, for these apparent heirless oldest-old people, cherished possessions serve as legacies to themselves, as objects for reminiscences chat preserve the continuity of the self.

Sheldon S. Tobin, Ph.D., is professor, School of Social Welfare, University of Albany-SUNY.

References

Csikszencmihalyi, M., and Rochberg­Halton, E. 1981. The Meaning of Things: Domestic Symbols and the Self. New York: Cambridge University Press.

Goffman, E. 1961. Asylums: Essays on the Social Situation of Mental Patients and Other Inmates. Garden City, N.Y.: Anchor Books.

Kamptner, N. L. 1989. “Personal Possessions and Their Meaning in Old Age.” In S. Spacapan and S. Oskamp, eds., The Social Psychology of Aging: The Claremont Symposium on Applied Psychology. Newbury Park, Calif.: Sage.

Lopata, H. Z. 1979. Women as Widows: Support Systems. New York: Elsevier North Holland.

Revere, V., and Tobin, S. S. 1980-81. “Myth and Reality: The Older Persons Relationship to the Past.” International Journal of Aging and Human Development 12: 15-26.

Sherman, E. 1991. “Reminiscentia: Cherished Objects as Memorabilia.” International Journal of Aging and Human Development 33: 69–100.

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