Executor Road: The Things My Mother Loved

Executor Road

Executor Road: The Things My Mother Loved

My mother collected things.  Nothing categorical, like records or Steiff Teddy Bears, or gold bullion (regrettably) but her own category, undefined.  Things that made her happy.  Inanimate, material things – things that were “darling,” had their story and origin, and she treasured them.  Some were arrayed across her dresser top in specific spaces occupied since the beginning of time, or rather my time, when I would peek over the edge and spot those of particular interest and marvel.  Later I would marvel in an economic glance, hundreds, maybe thousands of times in the years that followed.

For the unsentimental, this will ring unnecessary, as an overly emotional fuss.  It might even pass as wisdom to dismiss the attachments to a mother’s things.  After all, they are just things, inanimate, material things.  I mean, can’t we be more clinical about this?

No.  Not in this moment.  Maybe the next.Mom's Things

For the person seeking the “this attachment is a manifestation of blah, blah …” article, go Google.  For those of us wrenching our guts out over some $1.79 figurine, or a treasure from “God Knows Where”, this one’s for us.

I felt my mother’s presence over all her things, the things she loved.  Perhaps that’s at the heart of it.  I did not want to change that, although it had, to my grief, and beyond my control.  However, in those little spaces, among those intimately familiar possessions, she was there.

You’re due your moment.  Prolonged warbling won’t help, but a good cry might.  Be kind to yourself.  My comfort food was sushi, mom’s and my favorite, as on visits I’d bring a movie and some sushi.  Funny, no ‘things’ there.

From an executor’s perspective, it was personal property.  From an accountant’s perspective, most of it wasn’t even material unless of course there was value.  Still, someone must come along and move it forward, attachment and all, to a new landing spot.  And it’s ok.  It is natural.  That doesn’t make it less hard, however.

In the end, I attended to other tasks.  My sister spared me the experience of boxing up Mom’s dresser.  Some items went here, some went there. Heck, truth be told, some are still in boxes. But residing in new spaces are some of those things. I can remember – what they meant to my mother and what they mean to me.  I still love sushi and feel my mother’s presence regularly.

Scroll to Top