Shondra walked slowly through the house, her eyes landing on items that had meant so much to her mother. Memories emerged from nearly every surface: a picture of the two of them at her wedding; a tiny figurine gifted from a best friend; a cozy throw tossed over the couch. There were candles, lamps, cute little baskets, and nearly a dozen snow globes—one of which weighed at least twenty pounds and featured an intricate nativity scene, with hand-painted camels and sheep peeking out from the sides. It used to wind up and play “Silent Night” while little golden sparkles danced around. Now it just sat there, too heavy to throw in the trash.
Then, in the office: stacks of spiritual books and magazines, trinkets galore, and drawers full of office supplies. Scanning the shelves, she saw more baskets holding nothing, and several photos from her mom’s past. An old encyclopedia set from the 1980s took up the rest of the bookshelf. To the left of the desk, there was a small table with a shrine set up for her mom’s first daughter, a baby who died mysteriously one night before she was two years old.
When Shondra got to the bedroom closet, she sat down on the floor, feeling defeated. A huge walk-in, it held dozens in every possible category of dresses, tops, pants, skirts and jackets. The floor was lined with women’s size 11 ½ shoes. None of it would ever fit her. She was petite and round, while her mom had been tall and slim, with huge feet that they used to joke about. It was only funny because other than these feet, her mom was a picture of tall elegance, like a glorious sunflower.
How will I ever get through it all? she wondered. It was just her. There were no siblings to help, no other parent or auntie to come dig through everything. It felt insurmountable. But she had faced much worse.
Shondra’s mother, Joanne, adopted her when she was 14: old enough to be completely aware of her situation, and at the age when she was no longer considered adoptable. Joanne was a single woman in her early 50s, whose husband, Bill, had died just a few years earlier. After their baby’s tragic death when they were still young, the couple had once tried to have more children, but it didn’t work out. They lived their life in each other’s comfort until Bill had a heart attack one hot summer afternoon while mowing the lawn. By the time Joanne ran outside in response to his cry for help, he was dead. After that, her mother lived alone, until Shondra came along.
Joanne was a special education teacher whose job put her close to the foster care system. One day, a school caseworker mentioned the story of Shondra, a young girl who had lived in a small, local group home since the age of 11, following the death of her biological mother from an opioid overdose. Shondra’s childhood had not been terrible, and she remembered being loved by her mother, even if food and attention were short at times. Unfortunately, she never knew her father, and her biological grandparents—holy rollers who had rejected their daughter when she got pregnant at 16—wanted nothing to do with their unknown preteen granddaughter.
For that continued rejection at a time of unforgettable grief and loneliness, Shondra had once been both angry and befuddled. Long ago, with Joanne’s support, she forgave these people, and the newly connected mother and daughter grew into a happy pair. They truly were best friends, going out to lunch, shopping, and taking easy strolls in the park at sunset. When Shondra fell in love at 19, and wanted to get married, Joanne was hesitant. However, she put forth a supportive front, and despite her reservations made sure the wedding went exactly as Shondra dreamed.
Most of Joanne’s family was gone today, but at the time of the wedding her mom had invited her dad, beloved sister, and lots of aunts, uncles and cousins. She had what seemed like hundreds of friends, and dozens of close ones, and they were all there to celebrate. The VFW hall was filled with so much joy that night, it didn’t matter that half the food was cold because of a broken oven.
Shondra always knew that she was blessed to have found Joanne, and even more blessed that she found her husband, Justin, at such a young age. They were still together 25 years after their wedding, and had made a happy home with their twin daughters, now in high school. Joanne used to love having everyone over for Sunday dinners.
Then, two years ago, Shondra began to notice that her mom seemed extra tired during their weekly visits. She complained of stomach pain, but no doctors seemed to make much of an effort to figure out the cause. Eventually, when it was way too late, her mom was diagnosed with Stage 4 stomach cancer, and she died within two months.
Now, almost a year after her mom’s death, she was sitting on the floor of her closet, trying to figure out what to do with all of the stuff left behind. She took some deep, calming breaths, inhaling the moldy, stale closet air. At the very least, she thought, it was time to go through the clothes.
Years ago, she and Justin had watched several episodes of Tidying Up with Marie Kondo, giggling at this beautiful, somewhat kooky woman with her precise methods. Unlike her mom, they were a pretty minimalist pair, and didn’t worry too much about clutter in their home. For holidays and birthdays, the kids got a few gifts to unwrap, most often practical things like clothes or new computers for school. In lieu of physical presents, she and Justin had agreed long ago to focus on giving their kids memorable experiences: trips to the beach, outings to the zoo, etc. They wanted to make sure they had time for each other outside of scheduled activities, and it kept them from lazing around on weekends too much, which they were apt to do when weekdays were so busy.
That approach, combined with the fact that most of Joanne’s extended family was now dead, meant that Shondra never thought much about actually applying Marie Kondo’s methods. Until now.
She began pulling tops from the hangers, fascinated with her mom’s extensive collection of blouses, sweaters and t-shirts. She piled them up on the bed, stacking them high, sneezing as the dust puffed out all around her. Then, she made her way through Joanne’s dresser drawers, pulling out dozens more t-shirts
Remembering that Marie Kondo’s method required accounting for every item of clothing one owned, or else they would be tossed in the trash, Shondra began roaming the house, looking into every nook and cranny. She found a few of Bill’s remaining dress shirts and coats, yellowed and hanging in the back of the closet of the grandchildren’s room. She then found a few tops on hangers in the laundry room, set to dry there over a year ago and not touched since. Finally, she looked into the laundry basket, her heart dropping as her gaze fell onto the last pajama set her mom had ever worn in that house: a soft long-sleeved v-neck top and loose drawstring pants covered in pink roses.
On that day, right after her mom changed from those pajamas into comfy slacks and her favorite blouse, they had gone to the ER. The doctor’s scan showed a large mass, and they admitted her to the hospital and scheduled a surgery for the next week. Joanne was in so much pain, but still hopeful that the surgery would bring some relief. It did, but only briefly. Once released from the hospital, she ended up at Shondra’s house, in one of the girls’ bedrooms that Justin had reset for the comfort of his beloved mother-in-law. Not long after, all hopes for recovery turned into everyone’s acceptance that Joanne was dying.
Shondra shook off the memory and looked at the huge stacks of clothing covering her mom’s bed and the surface of two huge dressers. Seeing each pile, organized so neatly by category, made her think of the rows of thrift store clothes she and Joanne used to dig through for hours on random Saturday afternoons together.
She was struck with an idea.
She left everything where it was, shut off the lights and the air conditioner, locked the front door, and jumped into her car. She drove the twenty minutes towards her house on winding country roads, windows down, listening to the insects chirping and the wind whipping in her ears. The air was soft and warm, making her feel cozy after too many hours inside with the musty AC. As she pulled into her driveway, the sunset glowed behind the house, casting a beautiful golden light and making the surrounding trees sparkle in the breeze. She walked inside and saw Justin and the girls enjoying a perfect view of the evening sky as they set up for dinner on the back porch.
After they ate, the girls washed the dishes, then went to their rooms. Shondra and Justin sat on the back porch, enjoying the night air and each other’s company.
“How did everything go today?” he asked. It was her third attempt in the last six months to go through her mom’s things, and he approached the subject lightly and with sympathy.
“It was okay. I was pretty overwhelmed at first. But actually, I think I have a plan.”
And together, they plotted their next steps.
***
The doorbell rang, and Shondra opened the door to the welcoming arms of Janet and Francisco, two of her mom’s oldest friends.
“I’m so happy you came!” Shondra exclaimed.
“We’re so happy you’re doing this!” replied Janet. “We’ve really missed you. We’re so thankful to have this chance to spend some time together.”
Shondra ushered them into the living room, where Justin had created a makeshift bar offering wine, beer and bubbly non-alcoholic drinks. The girls were setting up snacks on the kitchen island, and were together singing along to a Joni Mitchell song playing softly on the speaker. They had created a party playlist that included some of Joanne’s favorite singer-songwriters, whose music they had come to love as much as their grandmother did.
Soon, Shondra had to ask one of them to turn up the music, as it was getting drowned out by the crowd. Arriving after Janet and Francisco was Shelly, a quirky special ed colleague who always brought fun energy to any gathering. Then there were Connie and Patty, the only cousins of Joanne still living, who looked like twins with their platinum blond hair and smoky eyeliner, like they never wanted to let go of their favorite look from the 1960s. Some parents of Joanne’s former students came, like Martha and Greg, the ones who had gifted the nativity scene snow globe as well as a huge flower painting hanging on Joanne’s bedroom wall.
Eventually there were more than forty people milling about the house, laughing, eating and at times, singing along with the girls’ playlist. Several of the old timers were smoking pot on the porch, and everyone was catching up and appreciating the joyful atmosphere, a big improvement from when they were last together at Joanne’s funeral.
Once everyone seemed thoroughly satiated, Shondra made her announcement. She had the girls turn down the music, and she grabbed a fork to clang against her glass, calling out over the crowd. “Hello everyone! Hellooo! Can I please have your attention!”
Everyone quieted down, and she began by thanking them all for being there. Then she asked, “Is anyone wondering why I invited you all today?”
Janet jumped in, “Is it to celebrate our beloved Joanne together, and bless her holy spirit with an ancient pagan ritual?” Everyone cheered and laughed.
“To our Joannie!” Shelly called out while raising her glass, and there was more hooting and clapping while Justin blew one of his famous wolf whistles.
Shondra couldn’t stop laughing for a minute, and then realized she was also crying. “Yes, yes, of course. We’re definitely here to celebrate my beautiful mother. To Joanne!!” she toasted. Then she continued, a bit more serious, “But I actually had something specific in mind, which is why Justin and I wanted all of you here for one last party.”
The crowd hushed, feeling the weight of that statement.
“My mom left me this house, and all of her stuff. Which I am so grateful for. But I have everything I need. Last year, the girls and I took home some sentimental items, but after that there was still so much left.”
Everyone murmured their sympathy. They all had just as much stuff to deal with, and many worried that they would leave their children with the same problem Shondra faced now.
“So I’m officially opening up the house for you to take whatever you want. Please! Maybe there’s something you gave to her years ago, and taking it will give you a chance to remember that moment together. Or maybe there’s a shirt or dress that you always loved, and now it can be yours. If you don’t take it, I’ll donate it to the thrift store, and we don’t know where it’ll end up. So if it’s special to you, I want you to have it.”
She began passing out shopping bags and directing people into different rooms, where she had set up everything by category—Marie Kondo-style. Joanne’s bedroom looked like a consignment shop for chic women over 65, with all items of clothing neatly organized in bins, on tables and dressers, on the bed, and in the closet. Everything had been cleaned and dusted and smelled like lavender essential oil, and the soundtrack set up by the girls featured gentle ocean waves and softly squawking seagulls. It set an appropriately somber mood as everyone looked through clothing that had once graced Joanne’s body, marking her absence in a way no other item in the house could.
In the girls’ bedroom, which had once been Shondra’s room, Justin had set up tables and shelves with all the knick knacks and baskets and candles that had not gone in the trash. The dining room displayed all of the remaining items in the kitchen cabinets, from plates and silverware to old cast iron frying pans (Shondra already had two). The office was Joanne’s spiritual center, and everyone who passed through got something: a book of prayers, a religious figurine, or even a sticky note with a thoughtful quote written in Joanne’s handwriting.
As the party slowly fizzled out, Shondra, Justin and the girls stood by the door saying their goodbyes, admiring all of the items people had chosen. Janet took a beautiful stained glass piece that she had made over forty years ago. A couple of Joanne’s teacher friends grabbed some of the student gifts, like a very heavy ceramic apple and a sign that reminded everyone that making a difference in a child’s life is more important than making money.
Some had staked claim to furniture and other large items using a sticky note cataloging system, which Justin devised after reading a self help book on estate sales. They planned to rent a box truck the next weekend and make the final deliveries.
After that, they would call a local thrift store to take the remaining items.
Eventually they would put the house on the market to rent or sell, and figure out their next steps. For now, Shondra was relieved, knowing so many of the treasures that brought her mom happiness were moving on to their next loving home.
