Several months ago my mother decided she wanted her family to have an estate sale and get rid of her "stuff". We did just that. However, I have heard since October how "They sold my antique lamps. They sold my bell jars. They got rid of ALL MY STUFF! That was MY LIFE!"
Talk about guilt. Since I am the only sibling living near my mother, I have heard her frustration about letting go daily. Finally, I informed Mom this past week that it hurt my feelings every time she told anyone how we sold her life away.
I remind her that she made the decision. In fact, we were very careful to remind Mother that we didn't have to do it. All her "stuff" could stay in her house for her to worry about the rest of her life. "No! No! I want you to get rid of it!" she stated. "I don't want to worry about it."
Well, today Mom and I went through probably twenty-five years worth of her clothes. Matching outfits. Preacher-wife dresses. Suits. Pants suits. All colors. Florals. Silk.
Boy, was that painful. I asked Mom two questions: "Will you ever wear this again?"
"No!" she said. "But it was my best dress when Daddy went into the ministry."
"Mom, will you ever wear it again?"
"No!"
Then she realized her best dress had to go. We came across Daddy's preacher robe. "Oh, my!" Mom whined. "I loved seeing him in that robe. He was the best preacher ever. Lord knows, it changed OUR LIVES!"
And we tucked that in a plastic bag.
Mom had thought of taking her matching outfits to a consignment shop in High Springs; but, after I brought home the rules and regulations, she said, "Well, pooey on that! We'll just take them to the Community Thrift Shop in Fort White.
So tomorrow, the Community Thrift Shop will haul away seven large garbage bags full of Mom's church clothes. . . matching pants outfits, etc.
"Let them go, Mom," I told her. "You will never wear a bra again. You will never wear heels again. . . and that's okay. Just think about the little women who will proudly wear your clothes to Church one day, knowing they got a bargain! It's okay, Mom! It really is!"
So what does my mom say in the end?
"Well, I may just go down there and buy back my blouse for a quarter!"
And I told her that would be fine.
It's hard letting go. Yet, as I look around my spacious closet with clothes that no longer fit, I wonder, "Why in the world am I hanging on to THAT? That doesn't even match. Not like my mother's clothes!"
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