Momma Was Right

Momma was right.  She usually was. 

Here I am wanting to write about the things that every previous generation before me has experienced but didn’t feel the need to make it known in any public way.  Man, I wish they had.  Even though losing our parents is a universal occurrence—with many, many overlapping decisions, experiences, emotions—it still, of course, has its unique pieces.  For every family and even for each member of the family, it holds significance in a myriad of different ways.  We wonder—am I alone in this particular experience?  Is this how it is for everyone else?  Reading these types of musings from previous generations could be comforting.  Who said it?  “We read to know we are not alone.” 

Before I give any OTHER impression, I will admit, I had – and still have- a pretty great family- even with all the complexities of being human—it was and still is a pretty great family.   Maybe that causes more intense grief with all the changes and loss over the last few years.  

Not all families make the choice to do an estate sale.  Momma and Daddy weren't parents with a bunch of do's and don'ts.  They were, I guess, but more in an implied sort of way.  We didn't hear them out loud much, we just knew what they were.  But one thing Momma DID say enough through the years- so often I didn't forget it-  was, “Don't do an estate sale.”  

Well. 

We did an estate sale.  

What can I say?  It was the most practical thing to do.  She raised me to be practical so that is what we did.

Anyone who has ever done one, no matter the size of the house, to go through EVERYTHING in the house—every closet, every shelf, every drawer, every box, every bag, every pocket, every envelope, every album, everything that had a lid, closure or seal—is an intimidating task.  But, the very real bottom line for me was-- I needed to see it all.  From Blake and me down to the grandchildren, we all chose sentimental and practical things to keep.  I was able to set up another sleeping/living space with mom and dad’s furniture on the property for when my Texas family visits.  I chose things to keep and use in my own home and the house at Lake Sinclair.  And then….   after throwing away, oh, I don’t know, 67 contractor bags of stuff, we left the rest.  That’s what I was told to do.

The estate sale company said if we didn’t want it, we were to leave it.  ANYTHING. I have to say, there was some relief in that.  No—HUGE relief in that.  I did not have to decide what people may or may not want.  I didn’t have to lug anymore trash bags to the every growing pile at the back door.  My job turned into making sure I found anything that was personal—names, letters, pictures, documents etc.—and just leave the rest.  That was helpful and I was good with that.

Until----- I saw the Facebook post by the estate sale company.  

Then I knew Momma was right.

Scrolling through pictures of our lovely home of fifty plus years with all of the stuff none of us wanted on display--  with price tags…. It was almost too much.  Immediately I wanted another few weeks in there to just fill up 67 more contractor bags, rent a dumpster and then pay someone to just haul it off.  But, again--  not practical.  

I knew I had left some clothes… but to see them displayed as if they were “something”?  Even something to monetize?  To see fun mementos of my parents’ extensive travel or items given to mom or dad as gifts or certain dishes I remember her using for special occasions or recipes or toys I hadn’t seen since I’d shoved them in the attic when I was “too old”—again, set out on display with price tags.  Is there a word for how that feels?  After weeks of thinking about this, I think we need a new word in our dictionary because I don’t know one.  It would be a hard working word because it would need to convey sadness, gratitude, embarrassment, sentiment, irritation, ambivalence, confidence, relief, regret—and, for sure, another dose of gratitude.  Can't have too much of that.  

 

As I walked through the house the night before the sale, it appeared much like the photographs I had seen—like my whole house had just coughed up its contents from all the hidden places.  I saw a few things the team had unearthed that I had missed but 99% of it I had touched.  And remembered.  These things—all of them—had had a good run.  For example, I found the receipt to their bedroom furniture they purchased in Decatur, Georgia—the exact same bedroom set that was in the estate sale last month 62 years later.  All the things were part of an active household that worked hard and gathered often, each thing serving its purpose over and over and over—used and/or enjoyed- some for over half a century!  I was okay to leave them and have someone else give them a home.  Or not.  They had served a family for a very long time.

Momma was right.  I understood why momma didn’t want this.  It was uncomfortable. I think momma was thinking about that-- the uncomfortable and maybe embarrassing part.  With a laughing heart I can say, it didn’t sound bad enough to her for her to do something ABOUT all that she was leaving behind. She left it ALL right there.  Both of my parents did.  They lived FULL lives... and tidying up and thinning out drawers, closets and attics just wasn't part of it.  

However, what no estate sale can touch are the meaningful memories they left with us that took place among all the things.  We have scads of those... for just us.  Those aren't for display or for browsing through.  Each of us tucked those in our arms and hearts and walked out the door with those.  Fullest hearts.  The goodness of those memories are what they really left behind.  

And the fact that momma was usually right. ; )