I really had a thing about what my mother was leaving behind. I guess we both did. She knew I was saving anything and everything she wrote or gave to me, long before she died.
I saved grocery lists, address books, photos from well before I came along, her artwork from high school, WWll scrapbooks (donated to the Naval Museum), all the notes and cards she wrote me, and snippets of conversations we had written everywhere in journals, on scraps of paper.
I kept the diary from Mum's last year - it was, predictably, filled with medical appointments and not written in her hand as she had macular degeneration There's also a list of people and numbers written large so that she could see, of her remaining friends and helpers. All this is a tangible memory for me of that last final year and it's precious.
There is also her handwritten, leather covered recipe book which on every page is a trip down the memory lane of Mum's life and indirectly mine. That has pride of place on a wooden trivet on the kitchen bench.
Oh did this hit home!
I really had a thing about what my mother was leaving behind. I guess we both did. She knew I was saving anything and everything she wrote or gave to me, long before she died.
I saved grocery lists, address books, photos from well before I came along, her artwork from high school, WWll scrapbooks (donated to the Naval Museum), all the notes and cards she wrote me, and snippets of conversations we had written everywhere in journals, on scraps of paper.
Clothes and jewelry were donated early on.
Great piece, it gave my heart a tug. Thank you.
What a beautiful post.
I kept the diary from Mum's last year - it was, predictably, filled with medical appointments and not written in her hand as she had macular degeneration There's also a list of people and numbers written large so that she could see, of her remaining friends and helpers. All this is a tangible memory for me of that last final year and it's precious.
There is also her handwritten, leather covered recipe book which on every page is a trip down the memory lane of Mum's life and indirectly mine. That has pride of place on a wooden trivet on the kitchen bench.
Beautiful, Ms. W. ♥️