Her Things

Yesterday a box arrived at the studio and it was full of mom's things.  Pooge is making her way through the sorting, donating, arranging and mailing of mom's belongings. 

Going through everything in the box felt like a slightly sad cross between Christmas and my birthday.  Some things are so old that I remember mom and dad using them going all the way back to when I was in elementary school. 

There's the plastic trivet that has alphabet pasta and long grain rice and some small colorful beans suspended in it, it's about 6 x 8 inches and for decades it sat on the table between mom and dad's easy chairs.  Mom was surprised I wanted it but was happy that I did and I told her I've had a spot on the corner of my desk just waiting for it and that I'd use it to hold my huge glasses of water that I chug all day every day.  She liked the idea that it would my constant companion every day that I'm at work. 

A small but impressive portion of mom's Rays shrine is now in Seattle and I'm going to give it a place of honor in the studio.  I'll wait until all the banners, pins, balls, posters and, my favorite, the bobble heads arrive, then figure out the best and most decorative way to display them. 

The cowbell is my favorite Rays thing so far.  When I pulled it out of the box, I exploded into tears thinking about how mom clanged that thing so loud and for so long during all those exciting games toward the end of the Rays' season, toward the end of her season.

Her pink fluffy robe still carries her scent and unused tissues, tucked away just in case, are still in the pockets.  Her down pillow will be with me every night.  Pooge has daddy's pillow and I have a blanket we used for him as he was dying. 

Eventually, Pooge is sending mom's hats.  Mom and I had a love of hats in common and we both have absolutely huge heads so I'm pretty sure all of hers will fit me. 

It's well documented that smell is a powerful trigger so it's understandable that the smell of mom on her robe and pillow create such a strong emotional response in me but I'm also, and almost equally, comforted by holding the things she held, using the things she used and having them become part of my daily life as they were hers. 

Is it odd that we keep these things?  That I keep these things?

I've always been aware of the reverence our family feels for the personal belongings of our loved ones but I know lots of families, happy and normal (whatever that is), who aren't attached to a single personal item, no matter how closely associated it was to the loved one. 

All I know is that, for me, from the Rocco Baldelli mouse pad to her last driver's license, I'll happily keep my own collection of Baseball Betty's belongings.  I feel closer to her this way and that makes me happy.

Love and prayers from here to there.