"You can't tow a trailer behind a hearse, Mom"
It's fascinating how we hold on to THINGS that seem so important but at the end of it all they don't really matter. They made us happy for a while, and then we tire of them. I wonder if it is the essence of what joy that THING brought us that keeps us holding on so tight.
Last week, we were finally ready for an estate sale of my mother's things. She is still alive, thank Goodness, but she is failing. It is her heart that is giving up on her. She had settled in a retirement home over the last six months but recently entered the hospital again and now is in a nursing home. She feels better there.
She is gray and thin and has no more energy. Her problems are myriad; she can't see because of macular degeneration, can't breathe because of COPD and can't walk because of PAD. She has learned to be happy sitting in her recliner, on oxygen, with her 56 inch TV to keep her company and looks forward to enjoying every meal and a steady supply of Hershey's kisses. She had to give up her beloved cats who had been such comforting companions so is expecially joyful when visitors arrive and, since the brain is ALL there there are many gay stories to be told.
I wish I had time for more of them. Especially at our estate sale because it seemed more than just a sale, it was the unravelling of her tapestry. Her house was chock-a-block full and almost every item could tell a memory. Or she could if she had been there.
Since she still lives in Birmingham, there wasn't time or energy to go through it all, so it took a few months to get a handle on what was there. In the end, we just carried everything out on the lawn, opened the doors and let the treasure hunt begin.
The sign on the gate said, The Shirley Shop. How perfect, because everthing in there was hers. It put a different spin on the whole experience. A face. Not only for us, but also for the shoppers because they realized, too, that the boxes and clothing, books and cherished treasures were all part of who she was. She was someone worth knowing and after being immersed in all those THINGS in her house and seeing all the striking and elegant photos we displayed, each shopper got a Thing but with personality and a story behind it to remember. We even gave away a snap shot of her to those who made purchases. (we had an overabundance)
It was bittersweet, yet a celebration and so much more than just a sale.
There were many fun moments but the best was when the fire truck pulled up with a crew who had come to shop. "Afterall," they said, "We had been here so many, many times on emergency calls, that it seemed especially fitting."
It's fascinating how we hold on to THINGS that seem so important but at the end of it all they don't really matter. They made us happy for a while, and then we tire of them. I wonder if it is the essence of what joy that THING brought us that keeps us holding on so tight.
Last week, we were finally ready for an estate sale of my mother's things. She is still alive, thank Goodness, but she is failing. It is her heart that is giving up on her. She had settled in a retirement home over the last six months but recently entered the hospital again and now is in a nursing home. She feels better there.
She is gray and thin and has no more energy. Her problems are myriad; she can't see because of macular degeneration, can't breathe because of COPD and can't walk because of PAD. She has learned to be happy sitting in her recliner, on oxygen, with her 56 inch TV to keep her company and looks forward to enjoying every meal and a steady supply of Hershey's kisses. She had to give up her beloved cats who had been such comforting companions so is expecially joyful when visitors arrive and, since the brain is ALL there there are many gay stories to be told.
I wish I had time for more of them. Especially at our estate sale because it seemed more than just a sale, it was the unravelling of her tapestry. Her house was chock-a-block full and almost every item could tell a memory. Or she could if she had been there.
Since she still lives in Birmingham, there wasn't time or energy to go through it all, so it took a few months to get a handle on what was there. In the end, we just carried everything out on the lawn, opened the doors and let the treasure hunt begin.
The sign on the gate said, The Shirley Shop. How perfect, because everthing in there was hers. It put a different spin on the whole experience. A face. Not only for us, but also for the shoppers because they realized, too, that the boxes and clothing, books and cherished treasures were all part of who she was. She was someone worth knowing and after being immersed in all those THINGS in her house and seeing all the striking and elegant photos we displayed, each shopper got a Thing but with personality and a story behind it to remember. We even gave away a snap shot of her to those who made purchases. (we had an overabundance)
It was bittersweet, yet a celebration and so much more than just a sale.
There were many fun moments but the best was when the fire truck pulled up with a crew who had come to shop. "Afterall," they said, "We had been here so many, many times on emergency calls, that it seemed especially fitting."