This weekend was hard. I’m just not ready to let go of my mother’s things. I found myself getting angry. Angry that my father and sisters were erasing my mother’s memory from the house. Rationally, I know that’s not what they wanted to do or were doing. But these days I feel irrational.

I know this feeling is likely a common one. I know I shouldn’t be angry with them, but I couldn’t help it. I know that’s not at all what they were trying to do. I KNOW that they were not trying to erase my mother’s memory. It’s a confusing feeling, but I couldn’t help it.

We found so many things. My mother kept EVERYTHING. There were letters to her from her father when she was going to San Jose State. Old mothers day cards. So many personal things, so many memories. I just wasn’t ready to go through them. It hurts having to decide what to keep or throw away.

I want to keep my mother’s memory alive. Seeing all her things in the house still give me some comfort. It’s weird. For years I’ve wanted to clean out this house, to get rid of all the junk. Fantasized about it even. But now that my mother is gone I want to keep her things around.

I’ve always been a light-travelin’ kind of guy. Normally, if I don’t use something for a year I throw it away. I don’t attach memories to physical objects. But now? I know exactly how my mother felt.

When my mom’s parents died she kept sooo many things, things I thought were junk. But now I finally understand.

So all I was able to do this weekend was help take boxes and bags of trash/recycle/donate outside, and down to the trucks. It’s all I could do. I felt helpless and worthless, but I didn’t want my family to see me break down, and that’s what I felt like I was ready to do.