My Mother, A Keeper par Excellence

My mom, a few years before she died.

This morning when I woke up two thoughts occurred to me as I was groping my way toward full consciousness.

One is that it was my turn today, to post on this blog.

The other one is that this is the day that my mother died, 29 years ago.

And so I decided today’s post would be some kind of tribute to my mother, who I must say was a “keeper” par excellence.

My mom died far too soon. She died far too soon to have the time to read all those newspaper articles she was keeping to read “someday.”

And far too soon to do some of the things my coauthor and I recommend that people do in preparation for the day when they will no longer be around, to make things easier for the ones they leave behind.

She did not have the chance to do any of that. She was only 64 when she died. She worked as a nurse until a few short months before the cancer she had rendered her incapable of working anymore. And by then she was too sick to do anything else.

But she had done what she could: not about downsizing, exactly, but certainly about “keeping the memories,” when she still had the time and energy to do so. She put little notes, usually written on masking tape, and attached to the bottom surface of various pieces of pottery, jewelry boxes, and the like. Little notes that would let us know why some of the things she kept were special. Little notes that became pretty special themselves when we found them after she was gone…

This whole thing about downsizing can be pretty complicated. I wrote about some of those complicated feelings I had, especially about my mother, a couple of years after our book was first published, in an essay that was published in the Christian Science Monitor, a newspaper she loved. That essay ended with these words:

Once, when I was in my 20s and home for a visit, I was trying to find an iron and ironing board in the maddening clutter of the place. I’m now sorry to say that I spoke harsh words to my mother about how hard it was to complete the simplest action in that house. What I said was true, but it was not kind, and it was not the most important thing that could be said about my parents’ home.

I had the chance to say the most important thing in the book I ended up writing after the experience of getting rid of all that accumulated stuff. I dedicated the book to my mother, “who filled our home with many, many things–but most of all, with love.”


Janet Hulstrand
 is a writer, editor, writing coach, and teacher. She is coauthor of Moving On: A Practical Guide to Downsizing the Family Home and author of Demystifying the French: How to Love Them, and Make Them Love You

2 Responses

  1. Chills on reading that final line. Thank you, Janet!

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