Advent bummer

There's a lovely title.
A little background: you know me, I love holidays. Especially the Christmas season. You know me, I love books.
I don't collect things. Ok, snowglobes, postcards . . . in a minor, half-hearted way.
I don't have anything to leave my kids. No jewelry, stocks, heirlooms of any kind.
BUT I comforted myself that I would leave each child a lovely collection of Christmas books. Every year I give each kid a new Christmas book. Some of these books are quite lovely.
I had a little collection of my own, including the Golden Book Night Before Christmas which was read to me or by me every blessed Christmas Eve of my life, from the same .25 edition, with the adorable illustrations by Eloise Wilkins.
So I went downstairs to the wretched basement to retrieve my books, because these are the books I read to the kids thoughout Advent.
I opened the box, safely installed on the bottom shelf of a storage unit,which I hasten to add is actually a plastic tub with what I thought was a water-tight lid, and to my horror, and I am not kidding, what I experienced was HORROR:
All the books are wet, and the ones on top are moldy, and the pages are stuck together.
Right on top was my Night Before Christmas.
Reader, I did not cry, because I was too stunned.
I carried them upstairs. I put the worst cases on the kitchen table. Everyone was sad, and told me there must be some way to save them. But I don't think the worst ones can be saved.
It was bed-time, so I read On Christmas Eve by Peter Collington. Libby said that was her favorite, and it wasn't really badly damaged, but it smelled bad, and it made my eyes sore.
So . . . my dog has died, and my heirlooms are destroyed. What is the universe telling me?
I know I am not guilty of neglect, because though careless about many things, I have taken the best care of these books. The basement leaks, but I never stored them on the floor. There is a leak from the ceiling, but I put this box on the bottom shelf of the storage unit. I couldn't imagine that the ceiling leak would penetrate the box, and cause such damage.
Perhaps the lesson is that basements, even under the best circumstances, are not good places to store books.
Perhaps the lesson is . . . oh I don't know or care what the lesson is. I wish my books were safe and whole, and I wish my dog was here. Meanwhile, I will meditate on how to restore my holiday spirit.
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On the up side, my friend Jeff has his 40th high school reunion over the weekend, and sent me some photos, and when I asked after another old friend from those days, Al, Jeff told me he was dead, and no one knew how he died.
Incredulous, I googled Al and found him, and he is alive and well, and Jeff is relieved, and the reunion committee has been instructed to take Al off the In Memorium page. Al's comment: "I guess it's my fault for not staying in touch, but dead? That's a little severe."