Journey's End. Journey's Beginning.

Last week I wanted to write about the bitter sweetness in my heart of the process of cleaning my mother-in-law's home and Pascha.  How much I wanted to be in the church, but could not.  How each time we have lost a parent, we have lost a Pascha.  Sometime hindered by surgery or death or in this case the house and its contents. I know that the work we did was an act of love, but it was not fun.  I felt as if I was at the tomb all the time.

Going through my mother-in-law's things was a process I never ever wanted to do, but one I had to do.  People would say, "How much do you want for X?" and I would think, "Do you have a mother-in-law in your back pocket?"  Things I never would have guessed happened.  People fighting over broken things.  People wanting broken things.  People not taking some of her beautiful clothes.  I had to bag so many of them for donations.  Don't get me wrong, I know it's a beautiful thing to donate the clothes, but I was surprised I did not have a line up for them.  She kept things of her husband's.  They did not have a lovey-dovey relationship, yet no one ever really  knows what goes on in one from the outside.  I can tell from what she kept, that she truly loved him.  On the last day, we had to hurry out the door, but I said my good-byes to them both.  The first time I entered their home, my Tata said to me that I was in my home, and to treat it as mine.  I hate that I have lost them.  I know their love lives in me blah, blah blah, but I can't have coffee with them.  That is what hurts, not that they loved you, but that you can't be with them the same way.  You can't have coffee with them

On to the next stage.  I get to go home and I get to take my family with me.  I said to my husband that his dad must have been a powerful person to have his dream of having his family in the US live on after his death.  I know it's the right move.  I know I have the blessing of those who have gone before us and those living.  Now to make the dream true.  Well if I recall from my father-in-law that's going to take great effort and belief.

Musings on the Kitchen Table

Last night, Mama's kitchen table was sold and taken from it's spot.  Here she presided and provided hospitality to all who came to her home.  Here was the first stop when I came to live in Hamilton, chatting as we would for thirteen years.  Here she gave of her self in love.  Here she created a community.  Here she served.  She always served.  The tragedy is she was going to get soup for her guests when she fell. 

I thought as they were taking it away how like a Christian altar it is.  Of course it is.  No one could deny that.  Then I thought how like a side altar it was.  Side altars often get more use in the West, as they are smaller and more intimate.  My dad said Mass everyday on the side altar in Ionia, Michigan. The kitchen table was were we heard the news, and the stories that bound us together as a family.

Letting Go of Mama

Letting go of Mama is so not easy.  Tomorrow, I go and decide what goes to donations what won't be used again.  A young woman starting over will be taking some furniture away.  I know she will take care of them.  Some of what we are keeping is fine things that Mama loved.  Some, like the kneading board, are not worth much money, but were so part of Mama and what she did.  I find it hard to explain why using her things she used to cook with is so important to me, but it is.  I have this spatula from my grandma whose handle is broken and I use a rubber band to hold it together.  I would never part with that.  I remember her cooking with that and I feel close to her.  The same is true with Mama's things.  That kneading board is hand made.  It's not complicated, but I know she worked with it for her family.  I've had a conflicts with some of her friends, but as a friend of mine reminds me they too are letting go of Mama.  It's really not the broken snow blower or broken chair.  They just don't want to let go of her.  I know I don't.  I would be rather listen to her complain or give me advice for ten or twenty more years than have to sift through her things.