Last weekend we drove 16 hours to clean out my mothers storage units. This was basically the final time we would reminisce about most of the memories we have because most of those were long forgotten, only to be remembered by a piece of artwork or a random scribbling our mom had thought important enough to hide away in her hope chest.
During this little adventure I have learned that no matter what, always cherish the things you own, even if it is very little. My mother, although a tremendous pack rat, cherished all of her belongings, even the small things. Now this does not mean that she took care of them as in cleaning or anything like that. Her furniture was basically garbage because of having years of dirt and junk on them and then haphazardly thrown into a storage container for 5 years. Everything was covered in so much mold penicillin probably could have been procured enough to help an entire country.
This whole process started on December 9th 2016, which also happened to be my oldest son’s 5th birthday. We had made plans to get everything ready for his party, which was to be the next day. I went in to wake her up, only to find out that I couldn’t. It was the worst day of my life. I will never forget the way her face was contorted. This was not a death we were previously warned about, though if you count her many previous suicide attempts I guess you could say that we were forewarned, but this was not one of those cases. Yes, she had an overabundance of an opiod in her system, but that is not what caused this. Pneumonia was the culprit.
I kept my boys back so they didn’t see Grandma in the state she was in. I could barely stand, barely breathe, but I knew if I could do anything it was to shield them from this and protect their innocence.
The coroner came. My husband was still 45 minutes away from the house. My sister about an hour. I was alone. Question after question from the police, the coroner, the emts. Where would I like to have her body taken? Has she ever tried to commit suicide before now? Was she sick?
I couldn’t think, my answers came out as babbling nonsense.
My husband arrived, my sister finally showed up.
My tears poured out again.
Because now that they were here I knew I needed to call my brothers.
Her husband.
Her sister.
Her mother, though she was last on the list because she wasn’t so much of a mother to her more than a corrupt jail warden that took pleasure in seeing my mother hurt and cry and bleed. So yes, she would be last to know.
They got her ready to be transported to the crime lab to find out exactly what happened but the running theory was that she did it on purpose, since she had tried so many times in the past, usually always the same method.
I think the hardest call to make was to my step-dad. He was so in love with her, they had been together for 16 years, almost 17. He was an ex marine so any emotions he did have, he didn’t show it. It took him 8 hours to get to my house.
8 hours he was alone to deal with the death of the love of his life.
He finally arrived and most of us were together. We went through the meager belongings she had stored at my house, throwing away everything we perceived as trash, though to my mother had been seen as a sort of treasure trove. We went through each diary she had, page by page, word by word to see if there was anything to find. Alas, there was nothing.
My sister left the next day after visiting the funeral home and making the final arrangements. My step dad stayed for well over a week. He wouldn’t show it, but I know he was very reluctant to leave. Because leaving meant it was real.
None of us thought she did it on purpose. Yes, there was a nagging thought in the back of our mind but none of us would listen to it.
A week later we were able to go see her one last time to say goodbye before the cremation.
Again, she didn’t look like the mother I knew.
The mother I knew was bubbly and smiling and always talking. This person was silent, expressionless. The woman we knew was gone. Her spirit floating somewhere near by, always. But gone nonetheless.
We went through the motions of making arrangements for her siblings to say goodbye and then setting up the memorial where there were so many tears, stories, and laughter. But the veil of sadness hung.
On Valentine’s day as I was laying down in bed my phone went off. I wasn’t going to read it because I was awfully tired but decided to anyways. This was a bad idea.
My step dad’s sister was sending me a message. He had been a truck driver and had been in Pennsylvania. He was the type to wear all black no matter the weather.
It was dark as he walked across the truck yard and the driver of the semi didn’t see him. He was run over and dragged a short distance before the driver realized something was wrong.
The world lost an amazingly wonderful couple in 2 months and it will never be the same.
His family has stripped every meaning out of their lives from being greedy over possessions and money. We had to fight just to get the possessions out of the storage locker. This will probably be the only thing we see in the way of inheritance.
This last moment of going through their things, to reminisce with their memories, our memories. Some long forgotten.
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Try to remember the good times. Deeply sorry for your losses.