As we trudge along with the daunting process of settling my mother’s estate, I am learning all kinds of things. For example, the seller’s disclosure paperwork that is needed when selling a home, inquires if the home has ever been a meth lab. Meth lab, friends. Then it proceeds to ask if the answer is no, has it been decontaminated. Obviously, a typo because it shouldn’t need to decontaminated if my mother was not cooking meth.
I’m learning that my mother not only collected shoe horns, but baskets. Lots and lots of baskets. Fortunately, a friend of my owns a florist and was happy to take those off my hands. I am also becoming a quick study on the value of my mother’s antiques. Fun fact, she has this claw foot couch – my nemesis because it scared the shit out of me as a child – in her living room that she was sure would be a hot commodity. It is not. Apparently, antique furniture is not overly trendy right now, Shocking. (Insert a sarcastic tone when you read that.) I am sure we will find it the right home once we have an estate sale.
I’m learning that I should have paid more attention to my parents when they talked about the items in our home. There are some historical pieces that are pretty interesting and I missed out because I dismissed their explanations. I’m also becoming aware that my mother was right. She is probably laughing right now. You see, she was insistent that saving brown paper grocery bags would be helpful when we cleaned out the house. Prior to her death, this was a pretty common conversation. I kept telling her that we won’t be using grocery bags and to stop saving them. This was one time I am glad she ignore me. We have almost used them all.
I’m learning that I can be happy while I grieve. That they can walk hand-in-hand and be my companions. My new reality is an adjustment. When we sell my childhood home, that will simply be another layer of grief. I am just grateful for brown paper grocery bags and that my mother didn’t cook meth in her home. It’s the little things.