False Teeth

I recently returned from Oklahoma where I went through My mother's things for the last time before the estate sale. I hated to get rid of anything. My mother had gone through the house with me several times, and almost everything she saved had some significance to her.
"This mirror was a wedding present from my boss at the state capitol."
"A print of this picture hung at the head of the stairs in Mamma's house when I was growing up."
"They served us tea from these cups when we toured the Forbidden City in China."
There were several porcelain statues that she had antiqued herself.

The drawers were full of keepsakes. There was a manger scene Jim had bought when she had finally decided to try to celebrate Christmas the year that my uncle was missing in action after his ship went down in the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. There was a broken string of beads Jim had bought in Ada when she had gone there to sing at the district meet when she was in high school. Jim had saved little pieces of ivory that Uncle Tom had brought back from Morocco. There was Pappa's shirt collar. These scarves belonged to Aunt Kaliteyo. This pin was one Mamma used to wear.

The kitchen cabinets were full of china pieces and cooking utensils Jim used when I was little. There were the canisters which were among the first kitchen supplies she had bought before her wedding in 1941.

I had never realized how much sewing Jim did. There were three sewing baskets and a drawer full of needles, pins, thread, scissors and other sewing equipment. There were sacks of unfinished knitting projects, stacks of patterns for dresses, table cloths, children's clothes, drawers full of material, some cut into shapes ready to be sewn together, sequins, beads, glitter, designs to be sewn. Jim also hated to throw anything away. She hasn't had a sewing machine for years.

The house was full of big artificial plants. I counted ten. Jim and I had a big argument about six months ago before her death, when I tried to take them outside to dust them off. There are little statues scattered around the back yard, statues of cherubs, leprechans, nymphs, frogs, rabbits, and of course a bird bath. I used to tease Jim about all the creatures lurking in her back yard.

Jim's jacket and her clothes pins were in the utility closet. Jim refused to buy a clothes drier. She said that clothes aren't crisp when they come out of a drier. There were her aprons - my favorite had the image of the Tweety Bird on it. Her broad brimmed sun hat was hanging there, the same one she had worn when she worked in the garden when I was a child. Also leaning against the wall were her stool and her ladder. Jim didn't hesitate to climb up on a stool to get something off of an upper shelf. Once she accidentally set off her Life Line alert button while she was on the ladder cleaning out the gutters.

Jim had several closets full of clothes. She loved clothes. One thing she regretted as she got older was that she wasn't able to go shopping. Shopping was recreation for her, whether she bought anything or not. She met friends to go shopping. Don used to drive her to Dallas to shop. Sometimes she would meet Aunt Oteka there.

I remember teasing Jim about being such a picky shopper. One day when I was little she took me with her shopping for shoes. That was when all the clothing stores were down town. Jim went down one side of Main Street stopping at each store to try on shoes. Then we crossed to the other side of the street and she tried on shoes in the stores over there. Finally, when we had been to all the stores, Jim went back to the first store she had visited and bought the first pair of shoes she had tried on.

Jim always wore a hat when she went out, and she only wore one style. It was round on top with a brim all the way around that curled up. There were red ones, green ones, brown ones, black ones. Some were felt and some straw. Some were plain and some had designs. There were 20 or 25 of them.

I went from one room to the other, crying. There were pictures of me everywhere: pictures of me as a baby, pictures of me with my violin, group pictures in orchestras, pictures in my acolyte vestments from church, and finally a large portrait of me that she paid an artist to paint when I was in high school.

I found an old trunk in the garage that I thought was empty, but when I opened it I found my mother's wedding dress and the suit my father had worn at their wedding.

I saved the cedar chest for last. Jim's cedar chest was given to her by her father when she was only a small girl. It has been repaired, but it still looks relatively new, and the cedar smell which Jim loved still fills the room whenever you open the lid. I don't know what I expected to find inside. It was probably the oldest storage space in the house, having stood at the foot of Jim's bed ever since I can remember, but for some reason Jim hadn't gone through the contents with me. I thought there might be ancient clothing or jewelry inside, possibly with notes about their significance - Jim often left notes for me so I wouldn't forget, but I was disappointed. There were just more patterns, material scraps, thread, frames for crocheting, some old shoes, some old costume jewelry, and right on top, a set of false teeth - they must have been Mamma's. One more thing that Jim couldn't bear to part with.

I think that's what did it for me. That's when I started throwing stuff away. I can't hold on to my mother by saving her stuff. I've already written down her stories. The furniture and the artificial plants, the sewing baskets, the hats - I did save one hat - the knick-knacks, the cooking utensils, all went. I kept the manger scene, the canisters, the wedding dress, the Tweety Bird apron, and Jim's sun hat.

Finally I took one last look at the cedar chest with the false teeth inside, and walked out of the door, crying.