Closing a Difficult Chapter in My Mom’s Life and Discovering a Glimmer of Hope

home insemination Kit

Even though my mom was always organized and loved to declutter, there was still a mountain of work ahead of me. When my parents purchased their home 15 years earlier, it was a stunning builder’s model, beautifully decorated and furnished. Sadly, my dad passed away not long after they moved in, leaving my mom to navigate life alone, far from her five children. She managed remarkably well, building a wonderful circle of friends. She joined a book club, traveled, played golf, and made the effort to visit her kids a few times each year. During this time, I was busy expanding my own family, which made it challenging to visit her, especially at a house where every room opened onto her pool deck. So, I rarely went.

My siblings and I decided that selling her house furnished would be the best option. I divided the task into three parts: items to donate, which took over the garage; things to throw away, which filled the driveway; and belongings to keep for ourselves, which filled five large boxes. Over three grueling days, I spent 16 hours sorting through her possessions.

It was a beautiful yet painful process, and there was an unexpected comfort in the solitude. As I sifted through my parents’ belongings, I reminisced about the art they collected together and mourned the end of a chapter I never wanted to close. I cherished the framed pictures my mom had displayed of herself and my dad, along with our families.

Among the treasures, I discovered a scrapbook—like a brag book for adults—chronicling our achievements: job promotions, legal victories, and art show invitations. I could picture her sharing it proudly with her friends. Part of me, fueled by a few glasses of wine each evening after my long days of sorting, wished my sister could have joined me. We could have shared laughter and tears together.

It broke my heart to find traces of a woman struggling to maintain her independence: drawers filled with books on memory loss, memory puzzles, and jars of vitamins aimed at boosting brain health. She never confided in anyone, and looking back, it was clear we should have noticed the signs.

Years ago, my brother and I gifted my mom digital photo frames filled with photos of our lives. They were nowhere to be found—likely discarded because she couldn’t figure out how to use them. As her world shrank, it became evident she was simplifying her space, creating a minimalist environment to manage her belongings more easily. In her kitchen, a large, framed whiteboard I had made for her still bore the word “tissues,” a reminder of tasks left undone.

As I sorted through the growing piles of trash and donations, I carefully pulled out items for the five boxes destined for us—things too precious to part with. I pondered what to do with the family photos we sent her yearly. Should I return them to the senders?

Years prior, after my husband’s grandmother passed away, my mother-in-law immersed herself in a similar project. She sent me a box containing a Tiffany tulip vase we had given her grandma years ago. While it wasn’t my style, I’ve kept it, as it reminds me of Grandma Groves and her kindness.

Inspired by my mother-in-law, I decided to keep some of the gifts I had given my mom over the years. My mom was very artistic, so I often sent her handmade or carefully chosen items. Some were displayed; others vanished without a trace. If she didn’t love something, she didn’t keep it.

To my delight, I found a lovely glass rainbow tucked away on a shelf, a gift I had given her shortly after my dad’s passing. I had hoped it brought her a smile, and it seemed it did, as it hadn’t been discarded like the digital frames. I was thrilled to bring the rainbow home, carefully placing it in my carry-on bag to ensure its safety. Now, every time I see it on a shelf, I think of my mom and smile.

This article was originally published on September 26, 2015.