This past December, my mother died at the age of 83. She passed away from complications after a lifetime of smoking. I learned of her passing nine days after her death, having been notified by a third party. You see, I had not had a relationship with my mother since 1999. This is not something I am proud of, but it is something I have come to accept. Sometimes, we need to cut ties with those whose presence in our lives is toxic and counterproductive.
I typically don’t delve into overly personal matters here, but I felt it was important to share my most recent encounter with my mother’s passing-specifically, the arrival of a dozen boxes of her belongings that were shipped to my home. Two dear friends, Barbara and Nancy, joined me as I unboxed the delivery. Barbara brought wine, and Nancy-always one for a spectacle-brought sage and Fireball brand liquor.
Among some photographs and examples of my late grandmother’s artwork, which I will gladly keep, the rest of the belongings have largely found their way into the trash or recycling bin, and in some cases are scheduled to be sold to collectors of secondhand items. Of the discarded items, most are head-scratchers: a single child’s tap shoe, a set of bed sheets from my childhood room, and an empty tube. The empty tube once contained blueprints of mechanical drawings I produced in high school for an industrial drawing course. But the blueprints are long gone. All that remains is an empty tube.
The arrival of these items didn’t shake me up or make me feel a sense of longing to have repaired the relationship with my mother. I have had a great life, thanks to my husband, our child, and the extended family and friends who make up my ‘village’. The items have minimal sentimental or financial value. The cardboard tube was sent to me for reasons I will never know. Yet, as a vessel, it symbolizes a version of me that my mother still held onto-not the wife, mother, higher ed professional, and friend I became.
In the end, the empty tube serves as a quiet reminder that the ways we matter to others are sometimes frozen in time, shaped by memories and expectations that may no longer fit who we are. As I move forward, I choose to honor the life I have built and the people who see me as I am now. The past, with all its empty vessels, can remain just that-empty-while I continue to fill my days with meaning, connection, and the relationships that truly matter.
Thank you for your courage in sharing your loss and observations with us. I’m sorry for your loss, Laura. The loss of your mom in ’99 and all that that entails and the finality of the loss with these boxes. Thank goodness for your wonderful friends, your chosen family, the family you’ve created and your wisdom in assessing and—of course because it’s you—learning from your experiences. You, my dear are a class act. Sending you so much love.