My father didn’t seem to care what stayed or went, as long as my mom had what she needed. She most likely would have kept everything if she could have, but the logistics of moving these mountains of memories made that impossible. I did my best to make unemotional decisions based on practicality; trying to keep my heart from tearing apart at each thing I knew she would miss.
In our scramble to clear space, we made choices based upon what would be absolutely necessary to have. We let go of more than we kept, hoping there would be enough time to hold one last garage sale.
We were dismantling a life.
Mary busied herself filling our dad’s car with illogical items such as old utensils and silk flowers, things for which she had some emotional attachment but were not worth taking to the halfway
