I need advice, please.

I'll try to not make this too long-winded, but I think detail may be necessary and that means long-winded.  Back when Tom and I split up, Jake, the cats and I left our house for the one we live in now.  The house we were in was supposed to be sold and all profits split up between us and Tom was court-ordered to maintain that house until that time, even though I bought this place far earlier.  He did not and the house went into foreclosure. That didn't stop Tom, his girlfriend (now-wife), Crackwhore Michelle (no, really, she is), from moving back into it, nor did it stop him from having his brother, Tim, move in with them.  Various and assorted other people also lived in that house in that time frame, resulting in the the house becoming the local crack house.  All of them are/were/whatever crackheads at that point in time and who knew crack houses could exist in really, really nice neighborhoods?  Trust me, they do, and it's humiliating to even admit that, so very embarrassing, but it's part of my history and it plays a part in this problem. So, the lot of them had over a years notice of the auction date, but they didn't leave or get their stuff out.  The house was auctioned and they were given 30 days to leave.  Because I'm nosy, I was keeping an eye on things and they left with one day to spare...one freaking day. You'd think this is done and over, no?  No.  A few days later I got a call from the man who bought the house in the auction,  irate, and blaming *me.  It seems he had no clue, being an out of state buyer, that the house was a crack house and that the interior was destroyed. He found me (the crack heads were untraceable by then) and decided to dump his world of ire on my shoulders.  Yeah, not so much.  Once I got him calmed down enough to let me talk, I 'splained I'd not lived in that house for well over a year, told him who *had, and said that since he's made such nasty accusations against me ("What kind of filthy trash *are you?" and other ore colorful variations), I'd like to drive out, meet him and bring him pictures of the interior of the house on the day I left.  Luckily, my attorney had instructed me to take pictures of every room with that days' newspaper in the picture, save the paper, and document I turned my house keys over to a deputy.  I took everything with me and  went to meet ol', mad Bob.  When I pulled into the yard, I saw masses and masses of...well...garbage.  It filled the huge front porch to the ceiling and overflowed out into the front yard and driveway.  Bob and I, once he saw the pictures of how I left the place (trust me, *anyone could have moved right into that house, it was so spotless and nice) got along just fine and he asked me if I wanted to pick through the garbage to see if there was anything important to me or my son.  Gah, now *there's a charming offer, and I'm getting to my dilemma,  I swear, so hang with me.  Anyway, he gave me three days and I spent all of them out there, sorting through the nastiest shit you could imagine but I stuck at it.  Why?  Because I'm a sentimental person and the very first bag I looked in, mixed in with maggot-y kitchen garbage, I found the silver baby spoon and fork that's a family heirlooom on Tom's side and was passed to us for Jake.  In another bag, I found Tom's and Tim's graduation pictures.  In a box of filth I won't even share the details of, I found Tom's trophies.  So, I went back and dug and dug and dug some more, cleaning and salvaging anything I could.  In the end, I filled two huge Rubbermaid boxes with things of Tom's and Tim's that could be saved...diplomas, degrees, family pictures taken in the early 1900's, childhood scrapbooks, photo albums, memorabilia from the deaths and funerals of various grandparents, books with special meaning, school year books,  and the thing that made me most sad, all the cards Jake ever gave Tom. You know, the ones where they can't really write, so you hold their hands and guide them on a card they made themselves?  Yeah, all of those.  Anyway,  my plan was to clean everything up and when Jake's great grandmother came to see him, I'd give them all to her since all of the old photos, silver and some other things were hers to begin with.  I had no reason to give it back to Tom or Tim, since they obviously didn't give a shit about any of it.  Well, in the end, Jake's great grandmother apparently never gave a shit about *him, since she never came to visit.  Ten years later, here I am with these bins still in my house, a constant reminder of all the pain the time brought and I want rid of them.  For the record, Jake has no interest in any of it since he's come to see these people for what they are.  When I first got the stuff, I did give him his dad's trophies and framed a few pictures of his dad as a young boy for his room and he still has those but says I can do whatever with them, too. Here's where I need some advice and am asking what y'all would do with all this stuff?  I'm most inclined to ship them jointly to Jake's great grandmother, mother and sister anyway (mother and sister are mean bitches of the highest caliber), along with a letter laying a lot of things out there that they they don't know because they refused to hear it...basically, unburdening my heart *and my floorspace in one fell swoop, finishing it all up with one big "fuck the whole, big, dysfunctional lot of you", only phrased more mannerly than that.  As much as I hate them all, and I do because they fought hard to take Jake completely away from me, I feel like this stuff needs to be back in their family. But part of me also wonders why.  I mean, if they didn't give a damn about Jake, why bother?  And I've got some family telling me to dump the stuff, let it go and don't worry over it.  A few say to send it back but with my letter, so my burdens are all dumped back on them, and some are saying to let them know I have it and the first one down this way can pick it up. Trouble is, that'll be Tom and really, I'm mean enough to want to everyone to see what he and Tim abandoned. At the same time, I realize they aren't going to give a rat's ass about anything I have to say and, in reality, are going to be pissed at me for holding on to all this stuff instead of giving it to Tom or letting them know I have it.  Ugh. No matter what I do, it's only going to reinforce what a bitch I am in their eyes.

So, knowing the whole, drawn-out story, what would y'all do with this stuff?