As I stood in front of my mom’s beautifully decorated china cabinet, filled with an array of crystal and silver items, I watched her fragile fingers gently brush against an old bowl. “This one’s an antique,” she whispered, her once commanding voice now barely a murmur. “And this vase, too. They’re worth something. Just remember that when I’m no longer here.” Tears pooled in her eyes, a familiar sight that pierced my heart. The harsh reality of her illness loomed over us like an approaching storm. Ovarian cancer had taken its toll, forcing my once vibrant mom to rely on a feeding tube for sustenance. I took a deep breath, knowing that if I broke down, we would crumble together in grief. “I won’t forget, Mom,” I replied, though deep down, I knew I might.
Five long years after her passing, I find that I don’t remember specifics about her belongings. I recall the concern etched on her face, the fear dancing in her eyes, and her frail body ravaged by disease. My heart raced, fighting against the calm facade I attempted to maintain. Yet, the details of what she wanted me to keep have eluded me, leaving me in a state of paralysis.
Since her departure, I’ve found myself holding onto her possessions: her worn recipe cards stained with memories of family dinners, her journals filled with beautiful cursive, her vast collection of animal figurines, and countless books on birdwatching, gardening, and butterflies. Each item, a piece of her life, was stashed away in the depths of her basement, providing a strange sense of comfort—until I made the decision to sell her house.
The task of sorting through her belongings has been overwhelming, emotionally exhausting, and at times, nearly impossible. I faced the heart-wrenching challenge of deciding what to keep and what to let go. At times, I would defiantly declare I’d keep everything, challenging anyone to question my resolve, though my wise friends stayed silent. Other times, I’d ask my husband to help, but ultimately, it was a journey only I could navigate.
The ordeal has been pure torment. As Mother’s Day approaches, I struggle to find solace in the chaos of parting with her home, her possessions, and the profound ache of missing her. I remind myself that her love, her spirit, and her legacy transcend any physical items. She wouldn’t want me burdened by crystal candlesticks or old records. I hope she forgives me for not remembering all of the items she deemed precious.
Instead, I choose to cherish her essence. I think of her incredible sense of humor, her infectious laughter, and her compassion—like stopping to help a frog cross the road, even in a rush. I recall how she would willingly give her seat to a pregnant woman, despite her own discomfort. I remember the countless nights she spent crafting homemade desserts for my bake sales, the lessons she imparted on kindness and creativity, and the warmth of her hugs. I can still hear her singing loudly in the car and recall her love for writing heartfelt cards to send through the mail. Her Abba ringtone on her flip phone still echoes in my mind, reminding me of her vibrant presence.
I think of the moments she shared with my son, holding his hand before crossing the street. I remember her delectable eggplant parmesan and the stories she told with such vivid detail. I can’t forget how she would take over the kitchen during our Mother’s Day brunch preparations, leaving memories that last far beyond material items. I carry her lessons in my heart, passing them down to my children.
Today, and every day, I choose to remember my beloved mom—not her belongings.
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In summary, letting go of belongings tied to a loved one can be an arduous process, filled with emotional turmoil and reflection. While the physical items may fade, the memories and lessons from those we cherish remain forever etched in our hearts.