It has been something I've delayed for six months -- cleaning out my late mother's house. And doing it has been just as hard as being at her funeral.
I knew it would be one of the most painful things I've ever had to do and that's why, when she died July 9, I told my family to give me at least six months before even considering putting the house up for sale. In my mind, that would be the final goodbye.
Since my mother's death, walking into her house gives me a false sensation that she was still there -- virtually everything has remained the same since June 8, when she came to live with my husband and me after experiencing multiple falls. There were clean dishes in the dishwasher, a few clothes in the dryer and an uncompleted newspaper crossword puzzle and pencil on the table next to her favorite chair.
The dishwasher, though, had a moldy smell from not being used for nearly half a year. The clothes in the dryer were musky. And the newspaper had yellowed with age.
Karen Nazor HillSo, I began the unthinkable task of cleaning out her house. I would touch nearly every object, from the biggest piece of furniture to a paper receipt, ridding the house of belongings that once made it such a wonderful, warm and loving home.
For the first five hours, I cried uncontrollably. I couldn't see getting through this mountain of an emotional task. But I didn't want anyone else making a decision on what would be saved, tossed or donated. It had to be me. Box after box held memories that brought generations of my family back to life.
My oldest daughter, Kacee, helped on the first day, taking bags of items to donation sites. However, the best thing she did was leave my granddaughters, Tilleigh, 8, and Evie, 4, at the house with me. (My grandson William, 2, stayed with her.) The girls were my saving grace.
Suddenly, the quiet house filled with my painful tears became the happy home it used to be. It was joyful, loud and upbeat with the beautiful sounds of little girls laughing, running through the house, playing the piano, telling me they were hungry and, best of all, reliving many of the things they did with "Nannie." The girls spent a lot of time with their great-grandmother and the familiarity of Mother's home was something they missed.
They sat with me on the floor as I went through container after container filled with birthday, anniversary and Christmas cards; there were drawings from my children when they were little, drawings from Tilleigh and Evie and even some of my own artwork, dating back to when I was 5 years old.
But one of the most profound things I discovered, and I was grateful my granddaughters were there to witness it, was the power of the handwritten word. My parents were wordsmiths and they often wrote down their thoughts.
I grew up playing Scrabble with my parents, and they continued the competition long after I left home. Although I never knew it, they documented their scores in composition books. At first, I thought it was strange that my mom held onto these books, but after flipping through the first few pages, I realized why. They were filled with their handwritten notes. After the game ended and scores calculated, my parents conversed on paper.
If Mother won, my father wrote a little note saying that she either cheated or he let her win. She replied that he was a sore loser. The banter went back and forth but always ended with profound professions of their undying love for one another. Love jumped from the pages right into my heart.
My father also made little notes highlighting things that happened that particular day in our family. I can't help but think he did it just for me, knowing that one day I'd find the notebook, discover the written treasures and feel their love.
Wanting the girls to realize how important these notebooks are to me, I explained how most people these days don't take the time to write things by hand.
Though I still experienced moments of sadness while cleaning out Mother's house, the girls brightened my mood by leaps and bounds. How could I not laugh when I saw them wearing Mother's "old lady" (as Tilleigh called them) wigs, or sitting beside one another, playing the piano and singing?
It was funny when they got a little annoyed at Mother for never telling them that the piece of furniture in the living room was actually a stereo (it had needed a new needle for about a decade). When I opened it to see what albums were in there, Evie and Tilleigh gasped. Evie, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head to the side, asked, "What is this? It opens? It plays music? Why didn't Nannie ever show this to me?"
My granddaughters turned a negative into a positive. I could not have cleaned out my mother's house without their presence. Two little girls gave me the strength I needed to get the job done. They were there for me, and I will always be grateful.
Contact Karen Nazor Hill at khill@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6396.