Mom's clothes smelt like a strange detergent and urine. It's the smell of nursing homes, not my mother. I wasn't there to bury my nose in her neck before she died, but I know what she would have smelt like — hospital. I didn't have the luxury of one last whiff of Betty. I found a great vest (we shared a love of vests), and it escaped the communal washing machine. There was still food dribbled down the front. I put it on, over a black turtleneck and wore it while I worked.
I cleaned out the van — it hasn't even been a month yet, because I bought groceries the other night and I barely had room for them. So I decided to sort through Wild Betty's clothes and start the process of unpacking the van. The overcrowding, and the fact that today was wonderfully warm and sunny got me out of the office. She had lots of red hats, purple boas and the clothing I'd given her 40 years ago. It amazes me that she held onto it for so long.
I kept about half of it, sorted out some things to send to her sister Fran, and the took two boxes to Goodwill. The stuff I gave away was mostly mom jeans, polyester she never would have bought, and tired old sweat pants and tops.
I took it to the local Goodwill. The man there said, "Spring cleaning?" in a friendly way, and I said, "No, my mother died and I'm sorting through her things." He was so kind. He'd been through the same thing recently with his parents. As I started to leave he said, "It's better to do it as soon as you're able. The longer you hold on, the more it hurts." I think he's right.
I cleaned out the van — it hasn't even been a month yet, because I bought groceries the other night and I barely had room for them. So I decided to sort through Wild Betty's clothes and start the process of unpacking the van. The overcrowding, and the fact that today was wonderfully warm and sunny got me out of the office. She had lots of red hats, purple boas and the clothing I'd given her 40 years ago. It amazes me that she held onto it for so long.
I kept about half of it, sorted out some things to send to her sister Fran, and the took two boxes to Goodwill. The stuff I gave away was mostly mom jeans, polyester she never would have bought, and tired old sweat pants and tops.
I took it to the local Goodwill. The man there said, "Spring cleaning?" in a friendly way, and I said, "No, my mother died and I'm sorting through her things." He was so kind. He'd been through the same thing recently with his parents. As I started to leave he said, "It's better to do it as soon as you're able. The longer you hold on, the more it hurts." I think he's right.
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