One of the hardest things for me about clearing out mums house if that I have had the urge to keep everything. Even the things that I used to think were tat and rubbish. My heart associates all these things with my mum.
Finally we are getting to the end of the long journey of clearing the house of over 35 years of detritus and my niece will be moving in to continue the tradition of the house being a family home.
She will be keeping a lot of the furniture and other stuff, so we haven’t had to deal with clearing everything, but it has been an experience I am not looking forward to repeating any time soon.
I have brought home with me something that really pull on theheartstring, but other people may find odd. I made pizza bases using my mums rolling pin this week and we will be using mums flour sifter when we next bake. Yes I have brought some ornements and put them in the unit I also brought from her house, but it is the everyday things that mean the most, the ones that I can user and think of all the times that she used them, baking for her family with love, as I continue to do with the boys.
On the edge of our heath now sits a companion set made by my dad for my mum and I look at it and remember the day he brought it home for their wedding anniversary and on the other side sits the black man that I used to feed as a child and my boys also did the same at mums. One day I hope if I am lucky enough to have grandchildren they can do the same.
So when you think of your mum, what springs to mind?
When my Gran died all her children helped clear her house. There were a few bits and pieces that everyone associated with her that they asked to keep and all the Grandchildren and Great Grandchildren were allowed to choose something too. I asked for a small ornament that I had brought her of two hearts together, it meant a lot to us both as we had said it was us and it was nice to have it to have the link between us “saved”.
Most of the material things that link to memories of my Mum have already gone, she had to be ruthless when moving from a house to a flat. Luckily though some of those things came here first and it’s nice to be able to look and remember. I think that is why I take so many pictures of my Mum, so that I will have photo memories.
Hugs to you and yours.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot over recent weeks, realising how hard it must be to clear out your mum’s home. I think what’s making it easier while grieving for my dad is the fact that my mum is still with me and my family home is still there, warm and welcoming, when I go up North. I dread the day when she isn’t there: I don’t know how I will feel, not having a ‘home’ to go to. Must make the most of every day we have together – and maybe get rid of some of the clutter now!
It’s so hard to deal with this stuff – strength to you for it.
I’m absolutely sure my grandparents had a black chap like that when I was a kid and I haven’t seen it for more than 30 years!
My mum has one of those chaps too, although she’s stashed it away because she’s now decided it’s politically incorrect to have it on display. I would have no such reservations – these things are all part of the memories we hold dear.
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I cannot even begin to imagine how this has felt, so all I can offer is a ((hug)), you’re a wonderful person Jen xx
My relationship with my mum is so different than the one you had with yours…treasure your memories Jen…they must be incredible x
What a lovely post and thank you for sharing such precious memories with us. I don’t have the same relationship you had with your mum, I did with my dad and he was my rock. x
I used to feed the black chap too, as a child – I must look it out next time I visit my Dad’s! The things I kept from my mum is her cookery books and when I look through them, she comes and gives me a hug!
My dad is very aware of how hard it is to clear houses so he is busy sorting stuff out but that is hard to deal with too…..
I just found your blog so will be following you regularly!
I love the idea of you baking with the boys with your mum’s things. I envy you in a way – after Dad died, I wasn’t allowed to set foot into his house ever again, and whilst it’s painful, there is something healing and right about being able to go through the house. We did it when K’s grandmother died, and there were smiles, and tears, and laughter all mixed together.
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