Maxine Rose Schur shares about what it means to hold on to precious items from family members who have passed away.
I’ve been wondering why I love certain things while others, far more costly, I’ve given away without hesitation. When my house burned down, only a few things elicited a sense of loss… like how that old stainless-steel bowl.
It was my mom’s bowl in which she stirred her cheesecake batter, made her special matzoh balls with chopped nuts, and assembled her potato salad. One spring day when I was 10, I sat in the kitchen while my mom made her potato salad. I enthusiastically describing all the wonderful things about Girl Scout camp. I happily recounted the jokes we played on the counselors, the funny songs we sang, and how my frog won the jumping frog race!
My mom listened attentively as she chopped the parsley and the eggs into the mirror-shiny bowl. After my mother died, the bowl became a cherished keepsake; its gleaming surface reflecting my childhood blessed with good food and attentive love. The love of a thing so often comes from the bond with someone or something we can no longer touch yet deeply feel.
I understood this intimate bond after my father died. My frail 80-year-old mother gathered all his clothes to donate to a thrift store. Then she spent two months fussing over them. She washed, starched and ironed his shirts. She ironed and folded his handkerchiefs. She pressed his trousers. “Mom, please stop!” I’d beg. “You don’t need to do this. You’re exhausting yourself.”