Well, FIL died unexpectedly in March, leaving two houses to purge of all the hoardings that had accumulated over the last century.
I found things like an antique trunk full of DH's grandmother's hand made trousseau, DH grandmother's wedding dress, shoes and veil, an unworn Masonic apron from the 1930s (long story), about 50 hats and about 100 drama costumes (another long story), plus an awful lot of things that had been kept on the grounds that they were supposed to be valuable (eg silver plate cutlery and tea set, Victorian dressing table set, random little ornaments) but when I took them to be valued at the auction house I was told they were practically worthless (which I can believe - the quality of the craftsmanship was generally poor and they were pretty clunky designs as well. This family were not known for their aesthetic sensibilities).
Then there was the household detritus, as little was ever thrown out. Cupboards full of posh jams and things that they had been given, squirrelled away, and forgotten about; a once-prized collection of old carrier bags; broken, dusty Christmas ornaments; old bottles of booze that had almost dried up or corked; old dresses and plastic handbags with stains or with bits chipped off them; hats that had been nice but put away badly and squashed so they were only fit for the bin; old plastic shoes; cheap, dusty nick nacks that they had forgotten existed; old bottles of toiletries and perfume faded from the sun; dusty dried flowers; macrame plant holders and decaying wicker shelves and chairs. Ironically both houses were so full of stuff there often wasn't anywhere for us to stay properly when we visited - we just sort of camped around all these worthless possessions, things people had completely forgotten they even had, never looked at, never enjoyed. I did manage to tackle parts of one of the houses before they both died, to make it a bit easier to visit, but the other one was tidy but neglected, so neglected.
I walk in there and a wave of despair always hits me as I see the scale of what they hung on to, and how little it counts for once you have died. It makes me want to give all my stuff away so my own children haven't got this to contend with. A selfishness of space, things used as a barrier so people don't intrude too much, a tendency to live an uncomfortable life rather than a comfortable one because the stuff has to come first. I spend my weekends ferrying it up to my own house so I can sort though it, then I negotiate painstakingly with DH about what we can give away, then the rest I try to incorporate into what we already own.
Ironically I have a storage unit of decent antiques that I inherited, that I cannot use because they need recovering, DH finds them uncomfortable to sit on, etc, and I pay £50 a month to keep them elsewhere while I have to make space in my home for a lot of old crap.
It's not easy at the moment.