This past weekend was a difficult one. There's no doubt that none of this is easy, but getting rid of things that meant something to someone is hard. These are things my mom treasured, things she worked for...
We were in Columbia trying to pack up some things. There is just so.much.stuff. My mom was a self professing pack rat. Every time I was having a yard sale, she would ask if there was anything she wanted. I would tell her no and we would joke about how one day I'd just have to get rid of it all over again. I wish that "one day" hadn't come so soon...
There are things we are keeping, things that are going to charity, things that are going to help others. I feel good about that. I believe she would want to help someone start over. I pray her stuff will go to a woman leaving an abusive relationship, a family who's been burned out, to people whose need is raw and real.
But (isn't there always one?) loading her stuff and dropping it at a donation site is emotional. This little bench is one she bought for her grandkids. So when the donation team at Goodwill took it away, my heart hurt. I stood and watched, wanting to tell them they couldn't have it. But I didn't, not at first. I fought tears as we drove away and throughout most of lunch at Fatz (the waitstaff must have thought I was crazy), but I finally admitted to Donnie what was bothering me. So when we left, we went back to Goodwill and asked for the bench back (pretty sure they thought I was crazy too). They had to chase it down from the sales floor, but they were kind enough to let me have it. Now it sits in my classroom, and every time my students have read or written this week around the room, someone has chosen this little bench.
I'm pretty sure she would be happy about that too.
