PUBLISHED TWICE!

After my mother suffered a heart attack and the consequences of short term memory loss, she couldn’t live alone again.  Instead of going back to her apartment, she was moved to a nursing home in Abbotsford, B.C.  Having been her primary caregiver since my father died eleven years earlier, I was faced with having to empty her apartment and distribute all her possessions.  Luckily for me, I had Jeannette, my precious sister-in-law, to help me.

The following story was published in Today’s Senior Newsmagazine in June, 2005.  For some unknown reason, they again published it in August of 2007.  Somebody must have liked it?

 TWO MARBLES

            I sit on an antique wooden chair that belongs with the antique wooden telephone table in the corner.  Except for a tall dresser, they are the only pieces of furniture left in the bedroom.

            My sister-in-law sits on the floor in front of me.  Between us, open and supported on top of a large cardboard box, is my Mother’s jewelry box.  It is a large, white leather, padded box, yellowed with age, that opens in tiers.  It has a lock and key.

            Together we are going through its contents.  My brother abdicated his role as heir to these items and said his wife should stand in for him.  It should be women dividing up another woman’s jewelry, either for themselves or for their daughters.

            There isn’t a lot of monetary value in what we find.  We have already dispersed the good pieces that were kept in small boxes.  Today we find an antique brooch, trying to sparkle its sequins of blue.  It may have belonged to my Grandmother, but we do not know.  My niece has asked for anything old and funky.  This will go to her.

            We pull out three lockets, two gold and one silver.  The silver one has pictures of my deceased Father and my deceased brother.  I put this locket aside to take to my Mother in the nursing home.  One gold locket has a picture of me.  I decide to keep that one.  The other gold locket has pictures of my maternal grandparents.  I keep that as well.

            Then we pull out a gold compact with an R.C.A.F. emblem on the front, and my Mother’s name inscribed underneath.  My Dad had been in the Air Force when he gave this to her on their engagement during World War II.  I keep it for sentiment, even though the mirror is broken.  The compact is heart shaped, and speaks of his love for her.

            There are sets of chunky clip-on earrings to give to my niece.  A pearl necklace, coming apart but with errant pearls still present, my sister-in-law wants to salvage, in case the pearls are real.

            I retrieve the obituary notices my Mother has saved, token reminders of lives lost.  At some point in her life, though, these people were family members and therefore earned her respect.  Their names she saved with her jewelry.

            We pull out an old Bulova lady’s watch.  It has a small delicate face and a gold expansion bracelet.  I remember my Mother wearing it on fancy dates with my Father.  It was her “dressy” watch.  I wind it and look to see if it works.  There is no second hand, and I can’t hear if it is ticking.  My sister-in-law holds it to her ear and says it’s working.  The bracelet is too small for me.  We decide her daughter, my niece, should have this, too.

            There is a small pill bottle that we open.  She pulls out the contents, but doesn’t know what they are.  She asks if they are roach clips.  I laugh.  I tell her no, they’re men’s tie clips, used to clip a tie to a shirt so it wouldn’t flap around.  They had belonged to my Father.  We decide my brother should have them.

            Next we find two men’s rings, one with my Father’s initials.  Again, these will go to my brother.

            There are a number of old coins, some silver dollars, and one large piece that says “Ontario, 1867, White Trillium”.  I don’t know if it’s a coin or not.  It has no amount on it.  I ask to save the coins for my son.

            We pull out a matching set of necklace, earrings and scarf pin, done in fine petite point, all tiny red roses.  These go to my niece as I have a similar set that will be passed down to my own daughter.

            At the very bottom is a folded, yellow piece of paper.  I open it and read my Father’s handwriting.  It is a promissory note for $7000.00 that he signed in 1959.  It is marked paid in full one year later.  I remember he started his first business at that time, so perhaps that is why he borrowed from a friend.  My Mother saved the paper for over 40 years.  I discard it, even though it’s proof my Father always paid his bills.

            There are several tiny padlocks and keys we dispose of.  And at last we have only two marbles left, one large and one small.  My sister-in-law shakes her head and asks why Mom kept marbles in her jewelry box?  I tell her Mom kept them to roll through a vacuum cleaner hose to find where it was plugged.  And if you move house a lot, if you keep your marbles in your jewelry box you’ll never lose them.  She doesn’t believe me.

            I take the marbles and put them in my pocket.  They will go in my own jewelry box, waiting for the day someone else will have to clean out my life.

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By Lisa A. Hatton