That is a magnificent box. And a very moving story. You could be writing about the relationship between my mom and I.
The last few weeks, I started the process of purging my mother's place of a lifetime of stuff. Oh, the strangest things that people hang on to. I would like to just throw everything into the back of the truck and take it all to the dump but a conscientious person can't do that, just chuck out 73 years of family history without looking through everything to see if there is something worth saving. So, the process starts; one pile for garbage, one for recyclables, one for the Salvation Army and one pile of things that are deemed worthy enough to keep. It's hard to be the one to make that decision, specially with a heavy heart, but I must push on. So, sitting amidst a place torn half apart, the day grinds on. Fueled by the finding and raiding of her liquor stash and with the help of my sister-in-law, I tackle the boxes and stacks and overflowing cupboards and it gets easier as the hours pass. I light the wood stove as the sun leaves the cabin in shadows and it winds its tendrils of warmth about the room.
We spend a lot of the time laughing and shaking our heads over the ridiculous things that people hoard and occasionally find hidden treasure in amongst the detritus. A box of family photos that I hadn't seen in 20 years, old letters from decades ago, a beautiful ring of amethyst, diamonds and gold that was sitting in a little plastic dish tucked in a dusty corner. My mother was a large woman and the ring is way too big but I slip it on my bony middle finger anyway, splaying my hand out to catch the sunlight filtering through the window. It was a gift from her late husband, I know, and she rarely wore it because a pioneer woman's daily life is a harsh one and she didn't want to damage it. I almost threw the whole dish out, glancing at the push pins and old bread ties and elastic bands residing there. But then, that is the kind of behavior that the Salvation Army likes, when they get a box full of estate possessions and find that roll of 100 dollar bills stuffed inside a cracked and dirty vase or that diamond necklace stashed in an old jacket's dude pocket. I went back there by myself the next day, to continue the gutting of the cabin; but within the hour, I was overcome by the silence and the turmoil and the icepick hangover. I bolted from the little cabin in the woods to drive very fast along the country roads, all the while turning that amethyst ring around my finger. Back to my family, my little dog (yes THAT dog) and my creature comforts. I am heading back up there soon for more purging and hopefully, I will find that stash of gold bullion under the floorboards.
That is what my husband, his sister and I did all summer long, was go through all his dad's stuff, after he passed away last year during the holidays. He collected the most insane things. We found boxes upon boxes of x-ray film, slides, negatives, and even carpet samples from when Hermann hospital in the Texas Med Center was built. It was toughest on his mom, and she tried, but she kind of had to sit back and let her kids do it. It's just weird the things that remind you of stuff, and the shock of what do you do with all of it now that the person is gone? Is it like throwing them away to throw the stuff away?
I made up envelopes for each of my brothers and myself and as I went through my mother's stuff, I set aside the things that I thought would be important to them (or rather their wives/children), even though I haven't talked to two of my brothers in years. I didn't necessarily WANT to do that for them, in fact not at all, I just knew that my mother would have appreciated it and so I did. I wanted to rip up everything into teeny tiny pieces first and mail the lot to them :) specially the one brother that hadn't talked to his own mother in 25 years. Lots of touching memories going through her stuff, though. It gets easier every time I travel up there to continue it but I still keep finding stuff to hurt my heart.
Well, I haven't mailed the envelopes yet. AH-hahaha! It's my duty to do this I guess, being as I am the executrix but being as they rarely had contact with her, I could have just as easily burned the stuff in a hateful-sister pyre. heh heh. These ARE the two brothers that my last words to them were 'if you are walking down the road, you had better look behind you because I have every intention of making you a hood ornament'. I wonder how many times they thought of that when they walked down any road? Lucky for them I live in a different city :) Besides, I like my car too much to get brotherbloodnguts on it.
The last few weeks, I started the process of purging my mother's place of a lifetime of stuff. Oh, the strangest things that people hang on to. I would like to just throw everything into the back of the truck and take it all to the dump but a conscientious person can't do that, just chuck out 73 years of family history without looking through everything to see if there is something worth saving. So, the process starts; one pile for garbage, one for recyclables, one for the Salvation Army and one pile of things that are deemed worthy enough to keep. It's hard to be the one to make that decision, specially with a heavy heart, but I must push on. So, sitting amidst a place torn half apart, the day grinds on. Fueled by the finding and raiding of her liquor stash and with the help of my sister-in-law, I tackle the boxes and stacks and overflowing cupboards and it gets easier as the hours pass. I light the wood stove as the sun leaves the cabin in shadows and it winds its tendrils of warmth about the room.
We spend a lot of the time laughing and shaking our heads over the ridiculous things that people hoard and occasionally find hidden treasure in amongst the detritus. A box of family photos that I hadn't seen in 20 years, old letters from decades ago, a beautiful ring of amethyst, diamonds and gold that was sitting in a little plastic dish tucked in a dusty corner. My mother was a large woman and the ring is way too big but I slip it on my bony middle finger anyway, splaying my hand out to catch the sunlight filtering through the window. It was a gift from her late husband, I know, and she rarely wore it because a pioneer woman's daily life is a harsh one and she didn't want to damage it. I almost threw the whole dish out, glancing at the push pins and old bread ties and elastic bands residing there. But then, that is the kind of behavior that the Salvation Army likes, when they get a box full of estate possessions and find that roll of 100 dollar bills stuffed inside a cracked and dirty vase or that diamond necklace stashed in an old jacket's dude pocket. I went back there by myself the next day, to continue the gutting of the cabin; but within the hour, I was overcome by the silence and the turmoil and the icepick hangover. I bolted from the little cabin in the woods to drive very fast along the country roads, all the while turning that amethyst ring around my finger. Back to my family, my little dog (yes THAT dog) and my creature comforts. I am heading back up there soon for more purging and hopefully, I will find that stash of gold bullion under the floorboards.
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*sigh*
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That's very expansive and kind of you. Your mother would, indeed, be pleased, I think, that you took the time to do it.
*hugs*
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