My Mothers House

When my mother died, the hardest thing my sister and I had to do was go to her home and clean it out for sale. She had lived in the house for 40 years, staying even after her divorce from my father. The house reflected her state of mind. It was cluttered and full of her things and memories from 25 years of being alone. My mother had a drinking problem for the last 20 years of her life, and would never allow us to come in and help her tend her home. She was a proud woman, who had always been an immaculate housekeeper when we were growing up. Mom never felt there was a problem, but my sister Debbie and I had seen the downhill slide and could do nothing to stop it. It broke our hearts, but she was determined to live the way she wanted.

When she passed away, we gritted our teeth and went into the fray. Though we had been in and out frequently, we were amazed at the amount of stuff she had collected. Music magazines covered every surface. Books were piled in corners. Dust bunnies ran rampant. Mom had played the organ for nursing homes, the VFW, even the carillon at Fort Logan cemetery for Memorial Day. She instilled in us the love of music, and reading. I remember as a child laying on her big bed as she read Under the Lilacs and the Five Little Peppers aloud to me. She snuggled close and did different voices to make me laugh. There was nothing better than being close to her, smelling her scent, a dusty rose smell, letting her voice lull me to sleep.

Looking past the mess, I remembered and felt some sense of peace, knowing there had been good times. Deeper into the house we went, cleaning cupboards, washing dishes and boxing things up for charity, keeping special pieces that reminded us of the happier days. When we got to the bedroom, her cedar chest sat in the same place it had always been. We opened it, not knowing what we would find. Inside, neatly folded were fancy aprons with lace, from the 50’s and 60’s that we knew she had put away “for good”, fancy hand towels, candles dusty with age, all waiting to be used for some special occasion. Cards of congratulations for her wedding, our births, and other happy occasions were stacked neatly in the tray of the chest. I read every card and note, tears welling up in my eyes, remembering the happier times. My heart felt as if it would burst from sorrow. Mom had been so unhappy and lonely at the end of her life, having driven away friends and the people who loved her best. I thought of how much better her life could have been, had she allowed people in. I know it was the disease of alcoholism that kept her from allowing us to help her, but I couldn’t help but grieve at what we had missed.

When my children were small, Mom was drinking a lot and she missed so much of their childhoods. We wouldn’t allow her to drive with them in the car, be with them unsupervised, or for them to stay at her house. She was just too consumed by her disease. We often invited her over and wanted her to spend as much time as she could with them, but she often called at the last minute to cancel, stating illness, or some excuse. This created a lot of resentment for me. I felt she didn’t want to see them, or me.

In one of the last rooms we were cleaning I found a milk box, the old wooden kind from when people actually had milk delivered. Lifting the lid to the box, I started to cry. Inside were L’eggs eggs with beads inside and glued together, rattles for little children, little golden books, yarn dolls, made from her own hands, waiting for the children who never came. I felt ashamed and so very sad that these toys had been waiting for so long, and that now it was too late. I still weep for the lost opportunities with my mom.

I also learned something very important. I learned to use everything, since “Good” may never come. I wear every apron and burn every candle. I learned to grab every chance to be with the people I love, to savor every minute of life, and not to let anything get in the way. No disease, no anger, nothing will get in the way of enjoying the love we have for each other. I never forget to end phone calls without saying “I love you”. I never pass up a chance to be close to the ones I love best. I never want my children to have to clean my house and weep over lost opportunities.

God has settled my heart, dried my tears and I know my Mom, with open arms will greet me when my time comes. I will be filled with the love I know she has for me and that she will no longer be struggling and fighting the illness that stole the time from us. We will forgive each other and ourselves. God will help us, and give us peace.



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