On Being Sentimental

I had lunch with a long-time friend yesterday who lost her dad a year and a half ago. We had a lot in common as far as experiences, insights, and what we've come to learn. It felt healing to share with someone who has a fresh parent-shaped hole in her heart. One topic we touched on was being sentimental. We both share that about our parent's last Chapstick.

To anyone else, these are pretty ordinary things no one would actually put any thought into, but to me, they hold sentimental value. The face cream has a perfect two-finger dip in it. I figure that's probably the cream she used the day before she went Home.

The glass toothpick holder is feminine, pretty, and the design is kinda complicated--just like her. It holds flat toothpicks as opposed to the round; that's the kind she always used, even though I thought they broke too easily.

The saltshaker is something she's had since I was little. I used to brush my teeth with the salt from it whenever we ran out of toothpaste. She was extremely fond of miniatures, and this always reminds me of that affinity.

I still have dried roses to do something with, but since I don't have any ideas yet, they wait on a dresser and remind me of her beautiful memorial service.

One of my big projects has been sorting through her almost obscene amount of costume jewelry. I'm going through one box at a time, and I don't recognize 99.5 percent of it. Most of the earrings have backs, but aren't necessarily paired together, which makes it kind of a game.

These are items whose purpose I can't identify. I took them to church and asked some of the older ladies, and they came up with two fair guesses: Sweater clips (to keep a buttonless cardigan from coming open), or decorative shoe clips (for something like a loafer). I would really love to find out for sure what these are.

I tend to be sentimental about everything pertaining to my mom. Everything she touched is precious, even the small amount of clutter that's still in the dining room where I'm sure every little thing had its purpose. I'm assuming this tendency will calm and pool into something more akin to appreciation, where I can hold something ordinary of hers in my hands without wanting to keep it safe somewhere. (I think there's a reality show about people like that.)

For now, I give myself permission to remember her nearness to me when I sniff her pajama top, wear her silver hoops and chrome bracelet and do a little word search in her puzzle book with her pen--a private, silent sentimentality that is all right...