Cleaning Out Mommy's House

Many of us have been faced with the emotionally and physically taxing task of emptying a deceased parent's house. My sisters, Cathy and Beatrice, and I are doing this now.
It makes me feel all sorts of uncomfortable things, all at once. I get impatient: I just want it to be done! Over! I want to spend my time in something other than a mouse poop infested house that isn't mine. I know my sisters share this emotion, although perhaps they express it differently. Cathy seems capable of seeing our house cleaning activities as a way to spend time together. That's a nice thought but I'd rather we had gathered for dinner or a trip to a museum or something else entirely.
And then there's the mixed feelings of picking up a chipped coffee cup and thinking, "Wow, Mommy drank out of this every day but who wants it?" On the one hand, it's just an old cup. And on the other hand (yes, Cathy! There are five fingers... a family in-joke of sorts, referencing our other deceased parent. Hello Daddy!) and on the other hand, it was a cup that Mommy used all the time. It now takes on that eerie personal history that infiltrates frequently used items. A tough thing to do- throw away bits of some one else's life!
But you can't keep all of it: Beatrice thinks every box we open, full of chewed newspaper and yes! more mouse poop!-will hold a treasure of sorts: that antique Barbie doll in an original box, her Foxy hand puppet (Stieff) or a simple million dollars. No such luck!
What we turn up is weird bits and pieces. Maybe this old coffee pot is worth something? What do we with a few matching plates that have no cups? Do we really want to dispose of those old dolls, even though they have been desecrated by play? It all takes time and an untold toll on your psyche to paw through it.
We know all the good stuff left a long time ago. There wasn't much but the jewelry was probably shoved into the pockets of underpaid substitute personal assistants and the few other things- a mirror? a set of cushions? also mysteriously vanished.
So there truly is not much left of a life. A pile of furniture that didn't look quite so worn out when you were seated around a Thanksgiving or birthday celebration, a couple of paintings that Mommy did (which I seem to be babysitting) and a trunk full of old photos that no one wants, but no one wants to throw out. The very fact that some one else (your Mother!) made the decision to keep these items, only to have us toss them away is sad.
I get bitchy and angry and depressed. I am exhausted by so much debating the relative merit of that old blanket or that pile of old school work. And then there's more mouse poop...
I just want this to episode to be over with!