At first I was frustrated with my lack of movement on so many projects and to-do lists that I had imagined for myself at Mom and Dad's. I would have liked to be a cleaning, organizing dynamo for Dad, helping him hugely with that heap of work that is their farm. He said he really appreciates all of the work that Mom did around there now that he has to do every last job. He asked me to do three jobs for him: copy a death certificate using the printer/copier I'd bought last summer, pull weeds from around his blueberries up on the hill, and dust. "I ain't much of a good duster, myself. I can run the vacuum and scrub floors and toilets just fine though."
I weeded the blueberries first thing the next morning, no problem, no procrastination. Dusting was another matter. Dusting meant handling all of Mother's things, something I was already having trouble with as I worked in Mom's craft room with Chris.
Somewhere along the way I realized that it may not look like much, but I was doing the work that needed to be done: grieving, in a whole new way. I was despondent as I lived in Mom's house, showered in her shower, used her blow dryer, kissed her husband goodnight. It was all so wrong, and so different from when I was there last year helping to care for her, or even at Christmas. This time she was more permanently gone, and had been for longer.
The house feels like a time capsule frozen back at July 30, 2011. The newspaper clippings she had on the frig and on the front door are still there. The decor items and household tools are all in place, summery, as though the winter and Christmas never happened. Her pantry, a work of art itself, looks like she just walked out of it hours ago. It's full of her home-canned goods and groceries of types Dad never uses, (pudding mix, pickling salt, corn meal) needing to be used up. If you are down there to visit, remind Dad of that and take some home so they don't go to waste. The freezer is also stuffed with corn and berries, especially.
So, finally I dusted, and it took many hours.
Mom has slews of knick knacks and framed photos and artwork on the walls. Some of it is from school projects we kids did ages ago, some from the grandkids. Chris had suggested we remove all of the silk flowers, just to keep maintenance down and because none of that is sentimental to anyone. So with Dad's permission I did that, filling four paper grocery bags full for him to take to Goodwill. I slowed in the sewing room, throwing out lip gloss, cough drops, pens that didn't work, and emptying her pencil sharpener. It was again as though she had left only yesterday. It just seemed so wrong to be getting into her things so intimately. I even cleared her swim bag of suit, shoes, hairbrush, deodorant, shampoo and soap.
But over the course of the weeks, acceptance grew. By last night I felt I could have dug in and made more decisions about what to do with it all. We shouldn't strip Dad's house, but we could reduce by half and he would still have a pleasant home. Maybe all wall items stay. Maybe things that sit on shelves, photos of individual people, and artwork by various family members could go to that person, as momentos of things Grandma had kept and cherished. Maybe when I am there next I will try selling patterns, quilt books, and blue glass items online (which were mine on Pfeifer Drive originally - anyone want it?) and see how it sells. And next time, maybe the old LPs if none if the others want them.
Maybe I could raise some money to restore some of Dad's savings.
So the time capsule is pretty much intact. Dad lives there, but doesn't disturb much of it. His realm was always outside and Mom's inside. It will gradually deteriorate and dissolve to dust like everything else. Until then I will enjoy my visits back in time, and count my blessings that they are by far mostly good memories.
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