The past few months have been all about clearing up the house, throwing things out that had seemingly lost all value.
True they were absurd, like her collection of plastic packets but they were precious to mom. However, in her absence they had lost their value. I gave them up but in the process I found some more things by her that I had thought lost, like her sketchbook, which I treasure.
It’s interesting the kind of threadbare things we hang on to: old sweaters and T-shirts are the most comfortable, as are the homes of our childhood, no matter how spare or cluttered.
And the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I too carry along packets and bags everywhere. It’s like a shield against the uncertainties of the day perhaps as mom’s collection was for her. And now that the house has been redone and is no longer falling apart a day at a time, I miss the earlier home.