My mom passed away a month ago; she was 94. I don’t share this to gain your sympathy or suggest you write a big donation check in her honor (but if you want to, her name is Charity Marie Fitzgerald and she really liked Nerinx Hall). I’m telling you because I don’t want you to think I am stealing my mother’s things.
My parents had six children, 21 grandchildren and 23 great-grandchildren. My mom often would complain about how loud our family functions were when she had no one to blame but herself. She started this mess. So after 94 years, you would think cleaning out her house would be an impossible task. Not really. My mom was the anti-hoarder. She did have collections of china birds, clowns (some a little frightening), Christmas ornaments and Irish china. Throughout her life, though, she had given away some of the most cherished pieces; so much of what was in her house was valuable only for the memories.
Everyone showed up on a Saturday, including the great-grandchildren who were each given a gift bag. Each of the ‘littles’ was given directions by Uncle Mike to ‘go fill it up.’ The girls headed for the box of costume jewelry. Each one reappeared with a pair of clip-on earrings and several necklaces. One wanted my mom’s old sewing kit since she was learning to sew. What a perfect new home! The little boys headed for the basement where they filled their bags with ornaments, tools and assorted other knick-knacks. And all of them got a chance to take a look at the bird and clown collection. Each of them got a little memento of their great-grandmother that I hope is sitting on their dresser or in their dress-up box, and when they clip on those earrings, I hope they think about her. My mom loved her big, extended family, and she would have been thrilled to see how excited each of the great-grandchildren was to get a little piece of her.
The rest of the furniture got divided and what was left got sent off to consignment and Goodwill. Not a fight was had among us as to who got what. There were screams of ‘You’ve got to see this!’ when we found a picture or a letter. Or tears when I found the stash of my columns my mother had clipped and saved. My parents didn’t have lots of expensive furnishings and belongings, which I guess made it easier for us to pack up the house—but maybe not. I’m just very fortunate. I have four brothers and a sister who know ‘things’ don’t really matter. It is the love we feel for each other that does. (Disclaimer: If any of you asks one of my siblings whether they love me, you may receive an answer of, “It’s none of your business.” or “Why does my little sister have to write that crap?”)
What I do know is that as my parents are dancing in heaven (with my mom still saying, “Jack, watch my toes!”), they must be pleased. Oh sure, there were lots of tears, a few terse comments and a dramatic exit or two (always by me, the youngest), but somehow the six of us are still the family my parents raised to love each other more than we love ‘stuff.’ And for that, I will always be grateful.
I will be funny next week, I promise.
Contact Patty at phannum@townandstyle.com.
