Remembering mom

Tags

arlington national cemetery, cremation, Family, Home, jewelry, Mother, Mother's Day, motherhood, urn

May is the month we remember our mothers – whether they’re living or not.
My mother died in May, 2007. She rests with my father, at Arlington National Cemetery in Washington D.C. At the time of her death, many active duty military personnel needed burial, too, so our family waited three months for a “widow’s interment.”
That delay caused my sister and I to decide on cremation (simply because an urn is much easier to store in your guest room than a body in a casket.)

While selecting the container that would be buried at Arlington, I purchased a piece of urn jewelry – specifically, a necklace with a small compartment designed to hold the ashes of a loved one. According to the ads, “Cremation jewelry allows you to hold that special someone close to you.”
All I can say is that it seemed like a good idea at the time.

However, when the gold teardrop pendant arrived, it required a special tool to open the small compartment – something neither I, nor the undertaker, owned. Which is why I arrived at an elegant jewelry store clutching a tiny bag of my mother’s ashes in one hand and a gold necklace in the other.
The jeweler maintained his composure when I made my request. With a bit of flourish, he unfolded a black velvet cloth on the glass counter and produced something resembling a dental tool. After unscrewing the back of the pendant, he removed a wire twist-tie from the top of the baggie, poured a bit out and began tapping her inside.

“I’ve never been asked to do this before,” he admitted solemnly, as a bead of sweat formed on his forehead. I wanted to say something reassuring, but quite honestly, nothing came to mind. After all, I’d never done it either.

Unfortunately, there was a bit more of Mom than there was space inside the necklace. So as the jeweler screwed the back onto the pendant, I did what anyone does automatically – without thinking – when they are faced with dust at home: I blew it off the glass.

Instantly horrified, I watched the particles float to the carpet.

The giggle in my throat – the kind that usually starts in a church pew and erupts into uncontrollable fits of laughter – began.
I’m not sure how long we cackled and chortled, or if the jeweler stepped out for a drink as soon as I left………..
However, I am certain of this: My mother would appreciate even a part of her spending eternity in a jewelry store.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Letting go

Tags

arlington national cemetery, condo, Downsizing, Family, Home, Houses, Memories, real-estate, Shelter

My sister sold her house.

A red brick structure in McLean, Virginia, where she and her husband raised three children, the house sold two weeks after it was listed.

“I’m happy to get the contract,” she said on the phone, “but I also feel kind of sad.”

Sad to leave the bedroom hallway, lined with family photographs (or it was until the realtor ordered her to remove them and paint it.) For 28 years, her children walked to school, went to prom, and returned from college.

The entire family gathered there after our father’s funeral at Arlington National Cemetery. Then, repeated the event 20 years later when we buried our mother with him.

More than bricks and mortar, my sister is selling a house permeated with memories.

Last year, 15 percent of US home sales involved dwellings that had been in the same hands for more than 20 years, according to the National Association of Realtors. A century ago, several generations lived in the same house, so these transactions were more rare.

Today couples tend to unload large homes before they grow too old to take care of them. Downsizing has become a retirement “rite of passage,” as children follow career paths across the country and no longer live close enough to help out.

My sister and her husband will move into a new condo and I shall try to forget the address that I memorized 28 years ago. Soon , two new little boys will be playing in her old backyard.

My sister doesn’t need a five-bedroom house anymore. She just needs a moment to grieve.

So do I.