Reminicsing

My mother succumbed to cancer when she was thirty-nine. I was 47 months old and I don't really remember her. Along the way, I forgot to ask my father some questions: Where did you and mom meet? Was it love at first sight? Why did she emigrate from Sweden (I know, sort of). Where did she get the money for the passage? Did she long to return (she never did)?

I have discovered that she was tall, had a real zest for life, and passed on her brown eyes to my sister. But that's not enough. Now there are none of her contemporaries living (she was born in 1892) and questions I raise now go unanswered.

Why the nostalgia? When I visited my late step-mother years ago (she died ten years ago at age 94), she handed me several folders with the admonition to keep what I wanted and discard the rest. To my amazement I found letters I had written when I was 8 or 9 years old (what a revelation). She had saved birthday cards from kindergarten days (when my mother was alive), an invitation to a birthday party before I could read, letters from days in college, articles I had published long ago and had forgotten, excerpts from sojourns in Europe and Mexico. Plus pictures of my childhood, and some of Selma, my mother, which I had never seen. Discard what you want! I wanted all of it. Thank God for step-mothers like mine. Not everyone is so blessed.

I've become a pack rat. Partly out of necessity (like keeping records for Uncle Sam) and partly due to nostalgia. We often went through our belongings when anticipating a move. As we tried to lighten our load, we realized we may be parting with tidbits of irreplaceable history but we can't hang on to everything forever. What do we do with a worthless but maybe an invaluable antique tiny model train, a beat up snare drum, a ragged Raggedy Ann or an old fashioned hand cranked phone?

We vowed we'd never move our piano again but we did as it had better memories than music. We eventually had to bid it farewell. Some day our grandkids will ask more questions. We seniors are often the only ones with distant memories and memorabilia to share, if only someone would ask before we are but a memory.