What to keep, what to donate from the home of a missed mother
December 30, 2015
The day I’d been dreading arrived.
The best I could hope for was that it wouldn’t rain.
It was seven months since my mother died of cancer. When her sturdy, yet worn, two-bedroom rowhouse in Mayfair sold in the fall, I was thrust into the inescapable and forlorn duty of cleaning out her house. An only child, I’ve been responsible for setting her affairs.
Even though my name was on the deed, I always considered it my mom’s home. After I bought the house, I lived in it only a few years before I married. My mom always loved the house. Twenty years ago, she and my father moved into it when his Parkinson’s disease progressed. The one-story structure seemed like an affordable and safe spot for them to age in place, although my dad lived there for only three years before moving to a nursing home.