Musings from an Estate Sale

It is almost incomprehensible that three weeks ago today mom was with us. She was having a rough day, but lovely moments of connection amidst the breathing challenges. Now, what had been her worldly belongings have been given new life. 

The items had been displayed with care, and the lights were on when we opened the door to friends, neighbors, relatives, and some who came in as strangers and left as friends. 

Tonight, we received an e-card from a friend expressing sympathy. Writing back, I mentioned that I still use the tea cozy, crock pot, and card table that had come from her mother's estate more than a decade ago. 

After Carol's husband died, she insisted on paying fifty dollars to mail multiple pairs of her late husband's shoes to us (here in Michigan), all the way from Arizona. Although not often anymore, when we do talk on the phone, she asks, "Is John still walking in Dan's shoes?" The answer is yes. I now understand why that is so important to her.

Our mom's yarn went to ladies at the hospital who knit caps for babies and blankets for elderly patients. Her unfinished quilt (with pins sticking out like a porcupine quills) was purchased by a woman who lives here in Michigan to be mailed to a sister, who would finish it. Her loop rug loom was donated to the senior center. Her baking pans went to the nursing home for the baking circle. Her pillow case went to a woman whose friend makes dresses for girls in Africa. Her fabric when to a woman who makes doll clothes. A newly-divorced dad will now put his daughter's clothing in her dresser drawers.

"All these years I was friends with the boys, and I was never in this house…." 

" I always wanted to look out from the bay window…" 

"This house reminds me of my grandmother's…" 

Her clothing was donated to her church emergency closet and a local nonprofit. Her jewelry is now being worn by others. Her rings now slip on to other fingers. Her watches sit on other wrists to keep them on time.

Friends will watch her windmill turn. Grandchildren of friends will now rock in the little chairs she helped build. Her Christmas lights will be strung in homes we have never seen. Friends will be picking up her forks, and spoons, and knifes. A nephew will light her kerosene lamps when his power is out. Even the spices from her cupboards will be blended by other hands in other kitchens. Will the vanilla go into banana bread? Perhaps....

And her records—hundreds of vinyl records! The woman who will dance to them has become a friend. I now know where she lives, and I know why she came to the sale. "For years, I drove by and saw the white-haired lady. The yard was always so immaculate. At first, I would see her bent over the flower beds. She always had decorations out. The goose with outfits for each season! The past few years, I would not see her out in the yard, but she would be in the living room, looking out the bay window." 

So many sweet new memories that would have been missed if we had not handled her estate sale ourselves. 

"When I read about her estate sale and that she had passed, I could have died. I had to come by and get a few trinkets to remember her…" 

Her unused bedspreads, unopened sheets, and towels not yet turned into crafts now belong to someone else. All the things she treasured are now bringing others pleasure.

"When I play her records, I will think about you all…"

Her plastic shopping bags not cut into strips (three-and-one-half-inches-wide) to be made into mats for the homeless have been deposited in the collection center at the grocery store.

 

I am so grateful to each person who has helped us continue the celebration of her life. 

Last night, I made corn bread in her cast iron tins. 

Tonight, I will put her chap stick on my lips. Tomorrow, I will wear her sweatshirt. And forever we will all be changed by her having moved from this world to the next.

Sufficient Warning

Sharing with a friend about the huge task of sorting, cleaning, organizing, and preparing my mother-in-law's home full of personal belongings following her passing from this life, his response was, "I would hope I would have sufficient warning to take care of things." 

I understand his hope, but I also think it is something I want to deal with sooner rather than later. While I might not consciously aspire to acquire, we are all products of that post-depression generation and we have w-a-y t-o-o m-u-c-h stuff. 

After spending a week working so hard that I have ended up walking like my MIL did at 92, this morning our book club opened up Brené Brown's Daring Greatly: How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, and Lead to this heading: The Source of Scarcity. "Scarcity doesn’t take hold in a culture overnight. But the feeling of scarcity does thrive in shame-prone cultures that are deeply steeped in comparison and fractured by disengagement." 

How many pairs of knee-hi hose is enough? How long should one keep a half-finished craft item one has not touched in a decade? Will one wear a dozen watches? Does one need three closets full of clothes? Please don't judge her harshly. This is about most Americans, for sure. I know the pattern to the bean bag chair I made 35 years ago is still here in my house. I can guarantee you I would never make another. Why hold on to what is not needed?

I am hanging out this dirty laundry in hopes we can all recover from the deep insecurity that had us hanging on to things. I am not talking about tossing out the truly significant items we might consciously want to preserve. That attitude is healthy. Our habits toward acquisition are not. 

Matthew 6:19-20

19"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. 20"But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal;…

Anatole France said it best, “It is good to collect things, but it is better to go on walks.” 

We cannot take it with us.

As soon as my knee recovers, I am going to choose one room per month to purge. We can take a lesson from the Tiny House Nation and clear each room of all but the necessities. 

We can pretend we have died and are sorting out only those things that are worthy of passing along. While at it, we can also be clearing out old attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors.... 

My sister-in-law and I rewired this little lamp for mom last May. She had just come home from the hospital with hospice care. She loved using it for a night light. It is now in my family room. 

 

Legacy

Was I being intuitively guided when I purchased a ten-pound-spiral-cut ham on Saturday afternoon? All I knew in consciousness was that she said she was hungry for my ham and broccoli quiche. Little did I know that ham (and the quiche) would be used to provide nourishment for my brothers- and sisters-in-law over the next few days as we said our final goodbye to the woman who has been my mother-in-law for almost fifty years.

Fried potatoes, beans and ham, southern cornbread... We have joked about my channeling my “Inner Martha” as I cooked and served and cleaned up the kitchen. (See Luke 10{38-42) Of course, I recognize how each of us offers nourishment to one another in our own unique way, and I know this was Seva Practice for me.

When she was discharged from the hospital in May of this year, her goal was to get better and ”graduate” off hospice care. If sheer will could have brought that forth, she would have succeeded. Although that was not to be, she certainly squeezed every succulent moment out of her last months of life.

While she did not dance, she was able to attend the wedding of her great grandson in May. A few weeks later, her church celebrated her 92^nd birthday, and she went to lunch with four of her five sons and wives. An afternoon visit with her 96 year-old sister-in-law who lives out of state delighted them both as they put aside their walkers to stroll down memory lane.

When her first cousin and his wife celebrated their 60^th wedding anniversary, she was there to enjoy the worship service and the delicious brunch.

One week later, she is free from the body that could no longer sustain life.

We had several nights of little-to-no sleep, and I went to bed exhausted last night after a long day of meeting with the pastor, having visitation at the funeral home, going out to dinner with the brothers and families, and then hungry for connections, sharing with my own beloved daughter and my three grands who came for the funeral.

Finding myself wide awake, it is now 4:00 am and I am tucked in my bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat, with my hungry fingers being satiated in their familiar home on the keyboard.

This column cannot contain the depth of our family’s gratitude for our local Hospice at Home, and I am sure there will be more writing about that. For now, I will close with the words of the late (great) Wayne Dyer:" Follow your excitement. For me it’s writing. I know that I’m fulfilling a dharma."

RIP Eleanor Basham. Your legacy lives on….

Ginny's Character

Character 

is who you are when nobody is looking….

Virginia "Ginny" Grove, with son, Sean.

The Celebration of Life ceremony for Virginia "Ginny" Grove was held on Saturday, September 26, 2015. Knowing how deeply Ginny felt about Native American spirituality, I wondered how well that might be honored in a service officiated by a Roman Catholic priest, and held in the cafeteria at the Catholic school where finished out her teaching career. 

Before the service began, my sister, showed me a reading she had asked Ginny's son to share. He said he was not emotionally able to do that. My sister understood—herself unable to hold back the emotion to read. As the service began, the paper with the treasured prayer was folded up, and placed back in her purse. 

The priest really did know Ginny! That was such a relief. I loved hearing him read the sacred texts related to nature. Ginny taught science, but, more than that, as the priest said, "Ginny taught LIFE." 

Ginny was (IMHO) way too young to die, but I knew she had had a major heart attack many years ago. Following the heart attack, she experienced severe anxiety and was sometimes afraid to stay alone at night. I remember leaving our back door unlocked each night, so Ginny could let herself in at any time if she needed to. Some mornings, she would be curled up comfortably on the family room sofa when we woke up. 

Her coworkers spoke of Ginny's integrity, creativity, and passion for inspiring students. Many giggles were sprinkle throughout the room when her leaf collection requirement was mentioned! Wonderful words of praise were shared, including a note from a former student, unable to attend. It is very different to teach a class than to inspire a life. Ginny inspired. She was one of our daughter's teachers in middle school, and Ginny was the flow into my life of several dear friends (best called soul mates). 

One teacher who spoke—another passionate cat lover—had been mentored by Ginny. It almost took my breath away when she closed her sharing with the poem my sister had brought hoping it would be read! It was perfect that it was shared by another teacher, one blessed to be nurtured by Ginny. Authorship is not conclusive, but it is often referred to as Native American. It may have come from such an oral tradition, but was likely written by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Regardless of the source, it is a source of comfort for Ginny's friends and family, and a beautiful tribute to Ginny.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die. 

In 2001, I had the privilege of officiating at Ginny's wedding. Ginny made bouquets of feathers—Turkey, Bluejay, Crow, and she chose to say her vows on the Pier, where the Saint Joseph river was flowing freely into the waters of Lake Michigan. 

Ginny chose this Sioux Prayer:

O our Father, the Sky, hear us,

          And make us strong.

O our Mother the Earth, hear us,

          And give us support.

O Spirit of the East,

          Send us your Wisdom.

O Spirit of the South,

          May we tread your path of life.

O Spirit of the West,

          May we always be ready for the long journey.

O Spirit of the North,

Purify us with your cleansing winds.

Ginny's son has created a scholarship in her name. What a thoughtful action. Recipients will be from the three schools Ginny blessed during her career as an educator. Ginny's body has been donated to the science she loved. 

Ginny has made the long journey, but Ginny's legacy lives on. Aho.