Monday June 13 2016  BOXES OF MY MOTHER’S MEMORIES

So many memories packed away in boxes.  I went through two boxes today that seemed to take hours.  Small items to sort through; letters, personal tablets (the paper kind), eye glasses, my grandfather’s pocket knife, baby clothes, aprons that come with stories, and a varied assortment of other small memorabilia which my mother thought important enough to give me many years before she died.  My mother knew how I loved going back over the history of our family, those I knew, those she knew, and some who my grandmother told me about.  The farthest generation back that I met was my mother’s grandmother (my great grandmother) when I was 8 years old.

When I met my great grandmother she was in a “rest home” facility.  She was always referred to as Great Grandma Lowe. Her first name was Mary.  She had dementia and was also bed-ridden.  I remember that she showed me her “baby”.  It was a large, life-sized, hard rubber doll.  It was wrapped in a blanket and she hugged it to her.  Of course I didn’t understand the situation and was quite confused.  I definitely knew it was NOT a baby.   THE LOOK my mother gave me, insured that I would not ask questions, nor say anything about the fact that her baby was just a doll.  I was skeptical of my grandmother after that.  However, I was very glad I met her.

My oldest sister has relayed to me a few of her earliest memories of “Great Grandma Lowe”.  My sister found her quite harsh and unfriendly toward most of her grandchildren except a favored few.  Her first husband died of food poisoning about the time my Grandmother married in 1917.   Her mother remarried and though she divorced her second husband, she was always remembered and referred to by her second husband’s last name.  What I must keep in mind is that Great Grandma Lowe was my mother’s grandmother and my mama dearly loved her grandma.  She always spoke very highly of her.

When I received the endowment of my mama’s correspondence there were a few old greeting card boxes filled with her most cherished letters.  I could tell by the tenor of the letter from her grandma that the two were probably closer than I realized. Grandma Lowe died when I was 10 years old.  She was up in her 90’s.  All three of my last three maternal ancestors lived into their 90’s and all three had dementia. 

Today was a tough day as far as letting go of anything in those two boxes.  Both were the size of a fruit box and they were given to me in person by mother about 20 years ago.  She described each item to me, labeling some, and told me the stories that she remembered about the items.  I decided that those two boxes would be keepsakes to pass on to my children.  I am going to save one large suitcase to pack all the historical family treasures from both Dave’s family and my family.  I will only keep what will fit into the suitcase.  I too would like to pass them on and let our children see some of the handmade items that belonged to their ancestors. 

One reason it took so long to go through these boxes was that I re-read the letters and notes attached to all the items.  I handled each relic, tried on the apron that belonged to my grandfather’s mother (who was a tall and enormously wide woman), and then held up my mother’s, mother’s house-dress (which I remember her wearing), comparing it to my frame.  My mother’s mama was very short and quite round.  Most of her dresses were made to look like long sacks with a tie around the middle that always rode up and snuggled under her pendulous bosoms and protruding round belly.  She looked like she would be soft to hug but I don’t ever remember receiving a hug from her.  But somehow I always knew she loved me, she just didn’t know how to show it.

Come to think of it, I don’t remember any hugs from my mother either.  I’m sure she held me close when I was a baby but by the time I was a few years old, and old enough to retain memories, her physical or verbal displays of affection ceased to exist.  She was never touched in a loving way and therefore she did not learn how to pass that touch on.  Once I was grown however, I never thought for one moment that I was not loved by her.  But what I learned from my childhood was that I knew how I did not want to parent.  I was successful in changing that pattern.  And so many memories came flooding back just now when I looked back to earlier this afternoon when my son was leaving our house after lunch.  I was working at the sink and we were alone for a few moments in the kitchen.  He came and stood by me, held his arms wide open and gathered me into his embrace.  His strong muscles enveloping me as he caressed my back.  My arms were tight around him, my face turned to one side against his chest, enjoying this precious love moment with my son who was, and still is, so dearly loved. I had intentionally changed the patterns of my family’s culture which made it so natural for him to express his affection so honestly and easily.

So you can see all the memories that opening a couple of boxes can construe.  The more emotions and memories I experience makes me all the more see the wisdom in keeping a house downsized yearly, monthly, weekly, and even daily.   I’m trying but I’m not very good at it yet.  But I’m really trying.  Just taking notice of what both our children are doing, in keeping things from becoming cluttered, is giving me more and more incentive to be successful.  Because of living their growing up years with a mom who became so attached to everything, they too knew how they didn’t want to live as adults.  I am happy that they were able to change the patterns of our immediate family’s culture.

 

TREASURES FROM GENERATIONS PAST

By Kathleen Martens

June 13, 2016

 

What to do is the big question,

Do I save or give it away?

Perhaps it’s my children who should decide

How I should handle this decision today.

 

What about the things I remember?

The memories made in my past?

And the keepsakes that I have saved

Helping my memory to last.

 

So what to do with another’s memories?

Do I keep them to enjoy while I live?

Should I tell the stories to our children

Hoping the relics to another generation give?

 

And now those treasures from generations past

In boxes, are long dejected,

And I’m concerned that in future generations

The contents will be rejected.

 

My mother’s keepsakes were hers alone

About those who came before.

I was there to hear some stories,

And I always wanted to know more.

 

Memories seem to spill from my heart

As I think about the past.

But a lot of memories are not mine

When I’m gone they will not last.

 

God, I thank You that I can still recall my memories.

And Lord, thank You for reminding me that my treasures are not of this world but those I have deposited in heaven.

Thank You for all Your blessings in my life and providing me with so much.

Thank You for a loving son and daughter.

Thank You too for making it so much easier for me to release “things”.

Thank You for Your amazing grace!

 

GOOD NIGHT AND MAY GOD BLESS YOU WITH WISDOM AND INSIGHT AS YOU LIVE EACH DAY.

P.S.

Actually, the poem you just read was written in the exact reverse order of stanzas than what you read above.  I first read the poem to Dave as it was originally written. I then asked him to again listen while I read it starting with the last stanza first and then reading the next to last stanza as the second verse, and so on with each of the verses.  No need to bother reading the original rendition below if it is too confusing, but you may find it interesting to see how my brain worked in writing the stanzas in reverse order first, not realizing I would like the reversed order best.  Oh yes, I did change a few words here and there.

 

TREASURES FROM GENERATIONS PAST

By Kathleen Martens

June 13, 2016

 

Memories seem to spill from my heart

As I think about the past.

But a lot of memories are not mine

When I’m gone they will not last.

 

My mother’s keepsakes are hers alone

Of those who came before.

I was there to hear some stories,

And I always wanted to know more.

 

And now those treasures from generations past

In boxes, are long dejected,

And I’m concerned that in future generations

The contents will be rejected.

 

So what to do with another’s memories?

Do I keep them to enjoy while I live?

Should I tell the stories to our children

Hoping the relics to another generation give?

 

And what about the things I remember?

The memories made in my past?

And the keepsakes that I have saved

Helping my memory to last.

 

What to do is the big question,

Do I save or give it away?

Perhaps it’s my children who should decide

How I should handle it today.

 

GOOD NIGHT AGAIN!