If you’re my age or older, I’d bet you can remember going to a grandparent’s home and seeing it as a museum piece, frozen in time. Each piece of furniture never changed and always occupied the same place in the room. In those days one’s furniture lasted and was handed down from family members to the next generation.
This idea is stuck in my mind lately because my mother had to move to memory care. Six years ago she transitioned from the family home of 53 years, a two-story colonial, to a small apartment in an assisted living facility. The apartment had a sitting room and a large bedroom. Her latest move to memory care has her down to one bedroom.
My house is packed with furniture from her past moves as I sought to combine some treasured pieces with my own, pieces I remember from my earliest childhood. I already rent a large storage unit and acquired another for this latest move. I will need time to sort through things and consolidate in the future.
Her bedroom at the memory care facility contains two important pieces of furniture that she will always recognize. One is the dresser from her bedroom set, approximately 75 years old, and one is a dresser/bookcase that is probably almost 70 years old. For most of my life it was in my brother’s room. It was noticed in this last move that the latter piece is now cracked on the side but it will hold together.
It’s funny how our current younger generations have no such attachments to things. I’m happy that I do as it’s a bridge to happy times for me. I can remember how my mom would scrimp and save to add another piece of furniture to our house. It didn’t happen often because she purchased good quality furniture. I’m thankful not to be a person who needs to change the look of my home frequently. If the furniture is functional and still looks nice, it’s fine for me.
My mom is no longer the parent I remember. She looks like my mom but age has robbed her of her ability to think. I’m thankful she still knows me. I’m comforted by seeing some of those pieces of furniture and other belongings I associate with her. And they remind me of the mom who was such a vital part of my life.
Words fail me at the moment. Emotion has taken over. “Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved.” Erich Fromm
N.B. I’m not writing for pity. And I know so many have gone through this. Writing is a way for me to process my emotions. I’m writing to maintain my sanity.
Stories Are For Eternity 