I am purging my mother’s house, what the Swedes call a “death cleaning.” Although she’s still alive, a jump start on organizing this cluttered house seemed easier now than after her passing, But there is no perfect time.
This house will always be haunted with the memories of an exceptional life: a young woman, fresh from art school, honing her artistic talent through the years and unlike what I now witness on a daily basis–the disintegration of a human being who, in my life, has always been so confident and strong. Her loss of identity has become part of my heart.
I can’t toss these memories in a trash bag, along with the rubber band collection and dusty cans of Glade and newspaper clippings. What will I do with all the things I can’t bring myself to throw away?