Portrait of A Lady

There are better ways I can think of to spend a weekend than sorting through my mother's belongings trying to decide what to give away, what to keep and who would get what. But it had to be done, and I couldn't leave my sister to do it alone. Nor could I bear the thought of my father having to do it.

Two solid days of bending and folding, laughing and crying. We fondly remembered when she wore certain things and wondered about some of the other much more random items we found like a collection of frilly cocktail aprons (which of course came home with me). I quickly discovered that my hoarding instinct - particularly with regard to carrier bags and scraps of paper - is a hereditary condition. My sister, who is adopted, argues that it's more of a nurture vs nature issue. We found clothing or jewellery that were representative of almost every decade of her life. All eight of them.

In its own odd way, it was better than Christmas. My sister said it best when she remarked that she felt like Mom was 'there' more this past weekend than she was over the holidays.

I won't type much more, because in this case it's true what they say: a picture is worth a thousand words.

I will never wear the Chantilly, but I took it for two reasons: because for as long as I can remember this powder container sat on my mother's dresser, and it smells like her.

In the end, we packed up a lifetime of belongings into five large plastic bags to be donated to the local Salvation Army. Fitting for a woman who spent much of her life helping others in one way or another. There are still a few things to go through, more jewellery and some of her dresses, but we couldn't do it anymore.

And that's fine. Perhaps it's better that way.