My dad started sorting through her things quickly. Just about the second day, actually. He’s an engineer and he has a certain way of handling things. In the case of Mom’s stuff (or her “shit” or “clutter,” as he always did and continues to call it), he is going through things in a methodical, logical fashion. I’m not so logical. I’d rather everything stayed where it was for a year.
So I was brought in to try on shoes, etc. There isn’t much I can keep. My mom had large, extra narrow feet and a good six inches of height on me. That, coupled with her fondness for Naturalizers and seemingly everything for sale at Chicco’s and Coldwater Creek, means I can’t really use much.
I left with a bag of slippers and a box full of socks.
I’m not sentimental when it comes to things. I used to be, but most of my treasured belongings were stolen on a roadtrip from California to Colorado, so I had to get over it. A lovely little pin handed down from my great grandmother was lost, along with all my other jewelry. I never really bought more, so I’m jewelry-free 99.9% of the time.
When I think about what I would want of my mom’s, it’s kitchen stuff. The casserole dish she always used for making mac and cheese. The springform pan she used to make cheesecake. Maybe one sweater, if it smells like her, which means it’d smell like her fragranced dryer sheets, but that’s okay. I’ll ask my dad maybe, someday, but not yet. It’s his kitchen now, even if he never uses it and most likely won’t be using it for anything more than microwaving. And he hasn’t gotten to that room yet. Like I said, he’s methodical, and he will not be rushed.