Life continues at a frustrating pace as far as settling the estate goes. One simple step becomes five or seven depending on which government agency needs proof of what. It is getting there, though. Faster than going through my mum's house is anyway. I knew I was attached to "things" based on the amount of crap I have packed away in boxes here. Now I am finding just how attached I am and it is wreaking havoc. I apparently tie in deep memories to objects. At least, that is how it seems at the moment. I am uncertain if this attachment is falsely intensified based on the proximity of my mother's death and the grief process.
I have 2 1/2 years about to organize this and my mum's house, and find a way to fit this house into hers (which she left to me). If I had a lesser emotional attachment to "things", this task would be a breeze. Furniture is part of the issue. I don't have a lot that I wish to keep out of our stuff, but there is um, maybe 3 pieces I wish to part with at my mum's and they are all small. My current stuff will not fit.
And, my parents were book hoarders. Especially my dad. My mum got rid of about 1/2 of his stash and it barely made a dent. Now, brittle paperbacks and hardcovers I can part with that are not old. There are a lot that are old. Some are minorly old from the 40's and 50's, some are much older. The much older I am keeping, but to leave them out takes up needed space. To pack them away makes them inaccessible and thus, why keep them then? Do you see my dilemna?
Family items, photos, and mementos abound. I am sorting them to pack them neatly. Some I will send to my siblings. Some I pack thinking they should stay in the family house as part of the "family heritage". Um, duh, sending them to my siblings *does* keep them in the family. I come across a unique item - I puzzle over it: do I keep this here or do I send it off? Will they look n the box I send and think "WTF did she send this for?" Should I even care? Probably not.
This is what happens to my mind as I attempt to wade through a lifetime of my parents' memories and the house I grew up in and then visitied frequently for more than 40 years. Every drawer holds a memory. How does one divide up memories? One does not. ~sigh~
On an up note, I do not go to sleep and wake up crying at both ends of the night anymore. Every memory is no longer painful. Some are just dear, others are funny. I have made new discoveries, also. Such as the letter my father wrote to his parents telling them of his engagement to my mum. It is funny, endearing, and so very much written in the style of "the family personality". Finds like that make up for so much of the heartache of sifting through everything.
As my 90 year old cousin keeps telling me, through the tears in her voice about my mum, "Life goes on, Pamela. It waits for none of us." A month ago when she would say it it felt like a curse. Now, it is finally beginning to feel like the blessing that it is ~ life does indeed go on, and part of that is moving into less acute stages of grief. I am grateful for that.