Even though my mom was a meticulous organizer, there was still plenty of work ahead. When my parents purchased their home 15 years ago, it was a model from a builder, elegantly decorated and furnished. Sadly, my dad passed away shortly after, leaving my mom to navigate life alone, far from her five children. She adapted remarkably well, cultivating a wonderful circle of friends. She participated in a book club, traveled, played golf, and visited her children’s families a couple of times a year. During those years, I was busy building my own family, which made visiting her challenging, especially in a house where every room opened to her swimming pool deck. Consequently, my visits became infrequent.
My siblings and I decided it would be best to sell her house furnished. I tackled the project in three parts: items to donate, which filled the garage; items to discard, which took over the driveway; and items to keep for my siblings and myself, which filled five large boxes. I devoted three intense days—each lasting 16 hours—to sorting through her belongings.
It was a bittersweet and solitary journey. As I sifted through my parents’ possessions, admiring the art they had collected together, I mourned the closing of a chapter I never wanted to end. I cherished the framed photos of my mom with my dad, as well as us kids with our families that adorned the walls.
Among the treasures, I found a scrapbook—an adult version of a brag book. It celebrated our achievements, from job promotions to art show invitations. I could picture her proudly sharing it with friends. I wished my sister could have been there with me; it would have made the task lighter, filled with laughter and tears.
My heart ached as I uncovered signs of my mom’s struggle to maintain her independence in that house. Drawers overflowed with books on memory loss, filled with workbooks and vitamins aimed at boosting brain health. There were even notes to herself. In retrospect, we should have recognized the signs sooner.
A couple of years ago, my brother and I gifted her digital photo frames loaded with images of our lives. They were nowhere to be found—likely discarded because she couldn’t figure out how to operate them. I noticed that as her world shrank, she streamlined her belongings, striving for a minimalist space that was easier to manage. In the kitchen, a framed whiteboard still held a note reminding her to buy “tissues” from two visits prior.
As I sorted through the growing piles of trash and donations, I set aside items for our five boxes—keepsakes that held too much sentimental value to part with. I pondered the fate of the family pictures we had all sent her each year. Should I return them to the givers?
When my husband’s grandmother passed away, my mother-in-law immersed herself in a similar project and sent me a box containing a Tiffany tulip vase my husband and I had gifted her long ago. Although it wasn’t necessarily to my taste, I’ve treasured it. Every time I see it, I remember Grandma Groves and her kindness.
Inspired by my mother-in-law’s approach, I decided to do the same with my mother’s gifts. Being an artist, I often sent her items I created or purchased from galleries. While some were displayed, others vanished without a trace. If she didn’t love something, it was gone.
Then, hidden on a shelf, I discovered a beautiful glass rainbow I had given her shortly after my dad’s passing. I had hoped it would evoke memories of him and bring her joy. Thankfully, it hadn’t been discarded. I was overjoyed to bring the rainbow home, carefully stowing it in my carry-on rather than risking it with the shippers. Now, every time I spot it on my shelf, I think of my mom, and it brings a smile to my face.
This experience has reminded me that even amidst sorrow, there can be moments of beauty and hope. For those navigating similar journeys, I recommend checking out this blog post for support and resources. Also, Make A Mom provides invaluable information on home insemination, and Wikipedia offers a comprehensive overview of artificial insemination overall.
In summary, while closing a significant chapter in my mother’s life was difficult, finding cherished memories and tokens of love helped me reconnect with her spirit.