Saving Time in a Picture Frame

Today was my mom’s 72^nd birthday. I once again experienced a day that was a collision of life passing by meeting things staying exactly the same.

While I was there, her aunt Vonna called to wish her happy birthday. Her aunt…in whose wedding my mom had been flower girl. Before he died a few years ago, my mom’s uncle Fritz had always called her on her birthday, and now his wife Vonna carries on the tradition. I can remember being 8 years old and Uncle Fritz calling at 6 a.m. because he knew mom worked the early shift. So of course it made sense to get that phone call today.  

Mom still gets candles on her birthday cake.

My family has enjoyed extraordinary luck in terms of long lives. No one has died unexpectedly, no one has died young. Every parent, sibling, cousin, aunt, and uncle I’ve ever had is still living. My grandparents were into their 70s and 80s when they passed, as were the great aunts and uncles I knew. This is part of the reason things seem the same year after year. 

But this year my mom seemed a little older, though most people would agree she doesn’t look her age. She’s recovering from a recent car accident and isn’t moving around as well as she’d like. I couldn’t really hug her because of her injury. She’s fragile.

We spent part of the day going through closets. She’s been trying to pare down things in her house that are taking up space. I’ve written before about how much I enjoy going through my own closets and getting rid of non-essentials. My mantra has become Keep Only What You Use. I embrace this because I have hopes and dreams of moving to a new state, of keeping my baggage light, of not being weighed down by my stuff.

But I suspect my mom has a different view of thinning out their possessions. Her resistance to my attempts at getting rid of what I saw as just a few duplicate items and outdated decorative things seemed out of proportion to my pushing. She took multiple attempts and made various excuses to stop what we were doing, to delay it until another time. 

But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them...

I believe everything she owns has a memory attached, and getting rid of anything feels like throwing away a part of her life, or her kids’ lives. I reassured her that she should not feel guilty for getting rid of something that was a gift, that we’re not keeping track. 

I have the best of intentions. I'm trying to make her life easier, to help unclutter some dark corners that might be weighing her down. I don't know where the line is between taking control and respecting a boundary, even if that boundary is purely sentimental. 

Sweatin' in an Oldie

Every time I watch an episode of Hoarders, at some point I think, "how can he/she possibly be attached to that (piece of fabric/empty box/magazine from 1991)?" I wonder why these people can't see that the object(s) in front of them are clearly garbage that should be tossed out. But the truth is, we all own something whose value is understood only by ourselves.

1987

One thing I can't throw out is a college sweatshirt I bought in 1986. At the time I was 14 years old and visiting my brother at his school during Parents Weekend. In anticipation of this trip I saved my allowance for weeks, knowing exactly what I wanted to buy at the student union store. Once purchased, I couldn't wait to put it on; this sweatshirt was the whitest, coziest, fluffiest sweatshirt I've ever felt. It was like wearing a cloud.

Twenty-five years later it's threadbare, tinted a yellowish-gray color, and smells musty from hiding in a storage bin for 8 months out of the year. The neck, wrists, and waistband are completely stretched out. I look like a bag lady wearing it. Still, I hold onto it. I've worn that Duke sweatshirt EVERYWHERE: on vacations (all of them), to football games, and on dates. While jogging, while sick, and while studying. Through high school, through college, through graduate school. It has traveled from Maine to Florida to California to Washington. Every boyfriend I've had has held my hand in this sweatshirt.

My life happened in this sweatshirt.

So when I consider putting it to a final rest, a flood of memories always surfaces. I've come to realize over the years that when my life is going well I tend to purge excess items, and when it's less than ideal, I hold on to more.

2012

I have other sweatshirts, mind you; sweatshirts from colleges I actually attended. And I have newer sweatshirts whose whites are whiter and whose brights are brighter. But the Duke sweatshirt...it's part security blanket, part historical artifact, like the teddy bear I received when I was three who still sits on a chair in my bedroom. I know it's way past its prime but I just can't let it go. It's my "Wooby." Every time I've tried to throw it out, sentimentality places it back in the bin. Duke's not going anywhere.