Trinkets of a Life

When my Mom went to be with Jesus…my sister, brother and I had to clear out her apartment. When she was ill, we provided an apartment for her near my sister. I was living in Denver and my brother, in Houston. But there was a lease deadline on Mom's apartment and the clearing had to be done just days after the funeral.

The three of us went through all of her belongings even though we didn't feel invited. Never had we gone through all of her private things...or gone further than to admire what was on display.

She would have felt vulnerable in that time as we looked at everything, divided what we wanted and talked about personal things we found. It was right. It was not right. We were forced, not invited. We were intruders. We looked through it all. Divided between us what we thought was right. We all agreed on things quietly. There was no arguing.

No will guided us. There were no written instructions, just the three of us—mourning as we sifted what was left behind. We needed every last piece of her to stay with us. Maybe this vase, this cup and saucer, this candy dish, this…. Would be like a part of her. All of her.

Then there was her jewelry box.

Jewelry is personal. You choose it. Wear it. It is on display. People know you chose that 'thing' to say to those who look… “This is what I like.”

My Mother. 

OUR Mother.

Mom had a small jewelry box with several beautiful things. Some we had seen and knew the stories—like the dragon ring that one of her brothers gave her. It was inset with jade and rubies. He brought it to her after being overseas in WWII. Those things, we knew.

The things we didn't know had even more of an impact.

There was a pair of earrings...dangling with a single pearl set in gold. They were so lovely. I had never seen them and felt I was intruding to discover them. "Why didn't she wear these??"

There was the engagement ring our father gave her in 1955.

There was the wedding ring her second husband gave her...ages later. He broke her heart. DAMN.

Looking at history is not easy. There are things you cannot coldly inventory or assign value.

This piece of furniture; that piece of furniture. This appliance; that appliance… Steadily we went through all the belongings of our Mother.

She was in it but not in it.

Trinkets.

Evidence of shopping she had done which made the 'thing' valuable to us because it was something she had chosen.

We can't divide it up. NO! Leave it as we found it! It's HERS! Leave it!

No...we had to empty the apartment. All the possessions….

On my gosh...there's her red purse. What's in it?? Her cell phone! A collapsible umbrella...a wallet. 

Oh, no.

She was gone.

Is it possible?

Just take all this stuff and burn it. She's gone.

No, wait! She loved that!

Oh, she kept all the birthday cards I sent her!

I wish she was here.

Is she here?

That was her Mother's!

Stop.

And yet, we had to continue. The apartment deadline. And we had to get back to Denver, to Houston, to home. But...SHE was our home. Ugh.

We each took what was agreed was something we would have to remember her.

It was wrong.

It was right.

It was fast.

It was horrible.

Now we move to our houses with our trinkets. Pieces of her life.

Things that were valuable—but she never used—waiting for a special occasion. 

Yet, LIFE is a special occasion.

Things that were of little value, we cherished. I mean, there were things that had they been spread out in a garage sale, would have brought in a pittance.

But they were hers.

Hers.

Valuable.

Meaningless.

Meaning everything.

Everything she had represented a choice she had made. “Do I want this?” “How much does it cost?” “Do I keep it?” 

Decor with redbirds. She loved redbirds.

Dammit.

Her Russian tea set. Oh, she bought that when she came to visit me in Siberia. And her Russian mink hat! Oh, my gosh. No... Just no.

And there we were.

Yes, I want it.

I know it didn't cost much.

Yes, I'll keep it.

It was hers.

Trinkets.

Treasures.

Live fully. Life is a special occasion. Don't store away things for 'another day'. Use what you have.

And, like my Mother did—live with your heart. She worked hard, loved her friends, sang in the choir, loved when we were all together. Those things are eternal.

Eternal love trinkets.

"...and the greatest of these, is LOVE." I Corinthians 13: 13