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I got to Pass Christian on Monday night after spending Sunday night and Monday in New Orleans with my sister and friends. Seeing Dad again was something I sorely needed, and it seems he felt the same. Tuesday we spent the day doing little to nothing as it rained all day. Wednesday I got to work in the garage. Everything from Mom and Dad's house in New Orleans was in bins in the garage. When my brother was here to help me after Mom's funeral, we went through and removed 50 bins of stuff and went through it all. 40 bins went to charity, the rest was split up amongst us or set aside. Very little of it went into the new house, the house they were supposed to retire to and spend their golden years together in. Wednesday we had lunch with my uncle, Momma's little brother and he agreed to buy Mom's minivan. One more thing taken care of.
There were about 30 bins left for me to take care of this week during my Spring Break. Long story short, I worked all day Wed. and Thurs. going through everything. In a non-descript bin today, full of old sheets, I went through, unfolded them to see if they were good enough to donate or if they were trash, etc. Mom's wedding band, which she lost over a year ago fell onto the floor of the garage. What if I hadn't checked that bin? What if I'd have just brought it to the Salvation Army? Just a lesson to everyone, check everything before you donate it. I brought 15 bins to the Salvation Army today. Mom loved the SA. They really helped my family after Katrina and I am always generous with the bell ringers during Christmas. So far we had brought most things to the Gulfport SPCA, since so many of Mom's special animal friends had come from there. All the rest will go to the SA. They were so thankful for the donations. I told them about how much they did for us after Katrina and how Mom would be so happy for them to have all of it. Mom had so many clothes, shoes, and books. She had the same sickness as my uncle, a packrat to the end. I have some of this too, that's why you see me on the classifieds so often. I'm fighting the hoarder gene.
Tonight I cooked Dad and I an awesome meal of turtle soup, salad, and redfish on the halfshell with my patented shrimp sauce topping. I brought him out to see the cleaned garage and he couldn't believe it was all done. It was a weight off his mind. I knew it would be a difficult thing, so I broached the subject during supper. I asked Dad if he was ready to go through Mom's bureau and closets. He told me he wasn't ready, but he could do it if I helped him. I demurred and told him if he wasn't ready, I'd help him when I came back for the Summer. He said, "Nope, it needs to be done." So we both opened a beer and lit a cigar and got to it. Mom was a hoarder when it came to certain things, nothing as bad as my uncle. The poor man had newspapers dating to 1973 when we cleaned out his house, stacked to the ceiling in 4 rooms. But I counted 47 pairs of the same shorts momma had in her bureau. She'd always wear 2 or 3 of them and keep the rest for later. The 3 pairs she always wore were done for, but the rest were brand new. It's a strange sickness. We got the bureau done and one closet. By then it was 1am and we had filled 8 bins with clothes to donate and filled up the entire trash bin with ones that couldn't be donated.
We have 4 more closets to tackle tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to it. The good thing about it all is the sense of accomplishment and the knowledge that at least less fortunate people will soon have such nice things to wear. We also spent a lot of time trading stories about Mom. Some tears were shed, but not too many. We laughed a lot too.
I wish I had another week here with Dad. Saturday morning we'll take the boat on a shakedown cruise and that will be good for both of us. Soon I'll be back in Texas, getting along with life, but my heart will be here in Pass Christian. I miss Momma so much. Tonight when I was cooking supper, I made 3 salads without thinking. I even tasted the soup and called out to her to come taste it. It's so strange when you know they're not there anymore, but you forget that at strange times . . . . then comes the realization of the thing you already knew, but it hits you again almost as hard as it did weeks ago. It happens every morning when I'm here. I walk over to the room and just see Dad in the bed. I wonder if this is normal. I wonder if it will ever stop, but a part of me doesn't want it to stop. I think I enjoy those fleeting moments when I don't remember that she's gone. It's just so hard to deal with what comes when I realize right after, that she isn't there anymore. - Sandy
There were about 30 bins left for me to take care of this week during my Spring Break. Long story short, I worked all day Wed. and Thurs. going through everything. In a non-descript bin today, full of old sheets, I went through, unfolded them to see if they were good enough to donate or if they were trash, etc. Mom's wedding band, which she lost over a year ago fell onto the floor of the garage. What if I hadn't checked that bin? What if I'd have just brought it to the Salvation Army? Just a lesson to everyone, check everything before you donate it. I brought 15 bins to the Salvation Army today. Mom loved the SA. They really helped my family after Katrina and I am always generous with the bell ringers during Christmas. So far we had brought most things to the Gulfport SPCA, since so many of Mom's special animal friends had come from there. All the rest will go to the SA. They were so thankful for the donations. I told them about how much they did for us after Katrina and how Mom would be so happy for them to have all of it. Mom had so many clothes, shoes, and books. She had the same sickness as my uncle, a packrat to the end. I have some of this too, that's why you see me on the classifieds so often. I'm fighting the hoarder gene.
Tonight I cooked Dad and I an awesome meal of turtle soup, salad, and redfish on the halfshell with my patented shrimp sauce topping. I brought him out to see the cleaned garage and he couldn't believe it was all done. It was a weight off his mind. I knew it would be a difficult thing, so I broached the subject during supper. I asked Dad if he was ready to go through Mom's bureau and closets. He told me he wasn't ready, but he could do it if I helped him. I demurred and told him if he wasn't ready, I'd help him when I came back for the Summer. He said, "Nope, it needs to be done." So we both opened a beer and lit a cigar and got to it. Mom was a hoarder when it came to certain things, nothing as bad as my uncle. The poor man had newspapers dating to 1973 when we cleaned out his house, stacked to the ceiling in 4 rooms. But I counted 47 pairs of the same shorts momma had in her bureau. She'd always wear 2 or 3 of them and keep the rest for later. The 3 pairs she always wore were done for, but the rest were brand new. It's a strange sickness. We got the bureau done and one closet. By then it was 1am and we had filled 8 bins with clothes to donate and filled up the entire trash bin with ones that couldn't be donated.
We have 4 more closets to tackle tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to it. The good thing about it all is the sense of accomplishment and the knowledge that at least less fortunate people will soon have such nice things to wear. We also spent a lot of time trading stories about Mom. Some tears were shed, but not too many. We laughed a lot too.
I wish I had another week here with Dad. Saturday morning we'll take the boat on a shakedown cruise and that will be good for both of us. Soon I'll be back in Texas, getting along with life, but my heart will be here in Pass Christian. I miss Momma so much. Tonight when I was cooking supper, I made 3 salads without thinking. I even tasted the soup and called out to her to come taste it. It's so strange when you know they're not there anymore, but you forget that at strange times . . . . then comes the realization of the thing you already knew, but it hits you again almost as hard as it did weeks ago. It happens every morning when I'm here. I walk over to the room and just see Dad in the bed. I wonder if this is normal. I wonder if it will ever stop, but a part of me doesn't want it to stop. I think I enjoy those fleeting moments when I don't remember that she's gone. It's just so hard to deal with what comes when I realize right after, that she isn't there anymore. - Sandy
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