Standing in a neighborhood hardware store, I happened to overhear a customer talking to the shop owner. The customer was a pleasant, round-faced woman in her eighties who was having a problem with clearing water out of her basement after recent thunderstorms.
She needed a narrow squeegee into which she could insert a handle in order to push water toward the basement drain.
She explained that a wide one would not work because. “I have too much stuff down in the basement.”
While the proprietor went to search his shelves I asked, “Do you have your mother’s things and your father’s things down in the basement?”
Her face lit up. “My children tell me to get rid of all that “stuff” but how can I? It’s like giving away my parents if I do that. My children do not want any of those things. None of it means anything to them. But every small thing down there has a meaning for me. I have to protect those things.”
I nodded to her. ‘I know how that is. My children say the same thing to me. And I tell them that when I am gone, they can bring a dumpster but not before!”
The hardware store owner returned with a squeegee and our conversation ended. The gray-haired woman smiled at me as she went out the door. We each were called to perform our own tasks no matter what children or psychologists termed our actions.
Among my treasures to protect is a matter of a large wall calendar from my mother-in-law’s possessions. I do not recall if the year was 1974, 1977 or exactly which year I am protecting. I just know that for a full year, “Mrs. Edith” took the time to write in each block in each month that day’s temperature.
I have no idea why that was important to her. I just know that for now, I am keeping it safe. Perhaps I may not always remember in which stack that calendar rests, but I am certain that “Mrs. Edith” will always know precisely where it is.