We had this beautiful project, buy the family house from my PIL and living with space and a big garden. My son died just before our dream came true, after two years of a somehow difficult transitional arrangement.
When the PIL moved, we absolutely weren’t able to pack anything else than just the essential for them. We were left with all those souvenirs they had hoarded for the last fifty years. Additionally to our emotional baggage, we saw their physical luggage of a life of “this can still be useful for something” and “I keep this because someone I love has touched it” obstract our daily suffering.
I’m far from having evacuated everything that could and should be, but at the moment I succeed in at least not adding to it. Always forwards, even with little steps.