The things she left behind

Empyting out her kitchen, it was the heart-shaped baking pan that stopped me cold. It was old and battered and meant more to me than the diamond jewelery she left me. All the birthdays and valentine’s days where the heart-shaped pan sat in glory in the middle of our dining room table. The centre of attention. The family traditon. Of course I kept it.

But there were many things I did not keep. The china, her clothes, her artwork. All the things that make up a person’s home. There were so many things that dragging them out in boxes and bags to the u-haul became easier over the next couple of days while we packed up her house. There was so much of it and it felt rediculous and wasteful and we became more brutal.

The Sally Ann in my mother’s town received the mountain of donations. They did not look all that happy about it. There are many parents dying these days and the brown mahogany dining room sets are not in great demand by the minimalist generations left behind. By the time we delivered the last load, we had to drive away quickly before the attendant came back outside. We were afraid he would say No More.

Empying out someone’s underwear drawer feels like a crime. It should be a crime. It is so intimate and final. And you know at that moment that the person is never coming back. How could they come back to none of their favourite lingerie?

It was about this time that I began to have more and more of these crazy thoughts. Like, if she came back would my mother be angry I now have her car? And the ring with pearl in it that I replaced for a black gem. Would she hate that when I gave it back to her?

I began to catalogue all the items that my brother and I had taken home with us. I imagined myself telling her “see we have most of your good stuff!” I imagine my brother and I presenting all these items and apologizing.

As the objects began to be absorbed into my home and used by my family, I kept track of where they all were. In case she suddenly made an appearance and demanded them all back again I could pack them up quickly.

I worried about the items we donated. Are people treating them nicely? Did the two massive ceramic swans find a home or are they sitting on a sad shelf still with a price of 4.99? Are people walking around right now wearing my mother’s clothes? It doesn’t feel right. I worried about the passports we shredded. Should I have done that?

I know its not real, she’s not coming back. I know that donating and recyling is good and that other people are using and enjoying these things. These things she left behind. I also know that all these objects we own are meaningless, that it is the person and memories that matter. But I also know all of those items mattered to her.

I wear her Chanel perfume and the sunglasses she left in the car. I haven’t wiped away her fingerprints on the windshield yet, but I am going to bake a heart-shaped cake tonight.