One of the first things I remember from visiting Grandma Cleta’s house was the beautiful curio cabinet in her living room, filled with precious mementos from her and Grandpa Larry’s travels.
Of course, we children were never allowed to touch the cabinet, or the lovely clock that sat on top of it, though its Big-Ben chimes every fifteen minutes were the gentle, musical soundtrack to our visits.
When Grandma Cleta died, Mom inherited the cabinet and clock. They now held pride of place in her living room, still filled with my grandparents’ treasures, though Mom and Keith added a few of their own items to the collection.
We lost Mom to cancer in July of 2018–three years ago next week. My stepdad Keith was just starting to move out of his grief and begin the next phase of his life when he too passed, suddenly and unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm, at the beginning of 2020.
Then the pandemic hit. We had to indefinitely postpone Keith’s memorial service, and my brother had to pack up the things we wanted from their house and put them into storage, until it was safe for me to drive across two states again to get them.
That trip finally happened, in late June.
It was amazing to see so many friends and family again, after a year and a half of quarantine. It was beyond weird to eat in restaurants, stay in hotels, be out in the world.
And it was both sad and wonderful to empty out that storage unit.
I didn’t bring home a lot of stuff–our house is already quite full, and everything had to fit into our Subaru–so the “treasure” quotient is pretty high. Lots of little precious mementos, some artwork, favorite dishes, Christmas ornaments…
…and Grandma’s curio cabinet and Big-Ben-chiming clock.
It’s a gorgeous thing, covered in marvelous little surprises and fun details.
I don’t actually know the history of the cabinet. Mom seemed to remember that Grandma Cleta had gotten it from another relative, but she didn’t know the story, and of course now neither of them are here to ask.
I passed along Grandma’s treasures, and some of Mom and Keith’s, wanting to put our own china and glassware on display. Though I did keep these amazing nesting dolls.
There are only six or seven boxes, but I haven’t unpacked them all yet. Partly it’s because we’re busy, but I think mostly it’s the emotional density of them. Each treasure I chose has meaning. I remember where every one of them was in Mom & Keith’s house, and I get a little pang at seeing them–particularly since, after a year and a half, I don’t quite remember every single item I chose. So I can only do a little of that at a time.
We’re working on rescheduling Keith’s memorial, as well. Maybe later this fall? After we finally get to do that, there will be a few more things to bring home. Pictures and mementos we will want displayed at the service. And…the urns.
Mom and Keith both chose cremation; Mom even bought her own urn, because of course she did. My brother and I selected one for Keith that complements it, and they will both come here. Mom never got to visit this house; she was already sick when we bought it, too sick to make the trip.
I like to think that she’s here in spirit and memory now, as I incorporate a few of her precious things. And that she will be even more here when I bring the urns home.
I miss them both, so much. They were good people, good parents. I still can’t believe I can’t call Mom and tell her the latest; that Keith isn’t around to introduce us to some crazy new music and share his latest home brew. (My brother chose the beer-making setup; I can’t wait to see what he comes out with!)
I know that it’s the natural way of things for parents to die, to leave behind just memories and material objects. But that doesn’t make this any less bittersweet.
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