Memere And Her Things

She was buried alive, well figuratively speaking, but her house was over run with the unimaginable. My grandmother loved to buy things; it was not only her hobby but her passion. Another passion she was famous for, although she thought she was discreet about, was being a kleptomaniac. My grandmother Doris, an old French woman (or “Old Maid” as my mother calls her) loves things. She was married once a long time ago for just a short while and now remains alone but with many things.

             As I step into her house, I see handmade dolls each embroidered with a name, none of which belong to any of her children or us grandchildren. Just lost dolls that she has collected over time. Her entryway is so packed it looks more like a storage unit, piled floor to ceiling like every room in her house. Each time a family member goes over we vow to fill a box with junk she won’t miss to throw out when she’s not looking. She can’t keep track of all the things she has, plus she’s hard of hearing making the task much easier.

             “Memere” I call, but no one answers. I grab a box and load it with things, a pair of bowling shoes, a broken tennis racket, a stack of magazines from the 70’s sticky with cobwebs. I set it by the door to grab on my way out and slowly work my way to the next room. I step into the kitchen where food lines the counters. Expired canned goods, moldy bread, something that looks like it might have been a banana but is so black and shriveled it’s hard to tell. The smell is horrendous, most of her house smells like a typical old person, musty, dusty, moldy, but the kitchen is especially awful. The trash can is overflowing, most of its contents dripping down the side, spilling onto the floor. Though this makes sense since she has a plastic grocery bag in there instead of an actual full sized trash bag, because God forbid, she wastes money on something like that. No, a grocery bag works best because once its full instead of paying a garbage man to pick it up, she can just take it to her local McDonalds and shove it down a trash can there. She would by a million things for a dollar before she spent a cent on trash.

             I plug my nose and inch towards the living room. “Memere” I call again, she still doesn’t hear me, but I spot her sitting in her favorite rocking chair. Her back is to me, the tv on. She still has no idea I’ve even come in. I loudly knock on the wall and say “hello.” She jumps and turns around, “you scared me” she says in a panic. “Sorry” I reply, “you really need to get a hearing aid, I called for you like three times.” “Hearing aid, what, are you calling me old or something?” “No, of course not” I say. “What” she asks. “No” I say louder. “What” she repeats. “NO” I holler. “That’s what I thought” she answers with a smirk. I just roll my eyes while looking for a place to sit. Every piece of furniture is covered in old blankets or books.

             I often wonder how someone comes to own so many things, but I guess my grandmother has had a lifetime to collect them. She also can never turn up a deal or steal something she just has to have. Though I wonder why, does she not see that her house is over run, can she not tell it’s embarrassing, that less and less of us are willing to come visit at all. Only 2 of her 3 children still come by and none of her grandchildren besides me. Everyone is either too busy, or far to disgusted. Yet as I sit here, she still asks “how come your cousins don’t come by anymore, your sister, where is everybody these days?” “Memere” I say, “where would anyone else sit?” “Oh, there’s plenty of room, you know, we could scoot some books over there” she points where an unbelievable number of plants reside, I can’t even tell which are dead and which are alive. “We could move some blankets around” she continues “and I always have plenty of food to go around.” Memere “your food is all rotten, you shouldn’t be eating it, not to mention offering it to others, they would get sick.” “Watch your tone their girl, you never, never throw away good food!” “It's not good” I shout, “its spoiled, rotten, moldy, your whole house is going to be condemned, you're living in filth and buried alive! I’m not sure how you can even get to your bedroom, every knock and cranny is filled with things!”  My grandmother recoils looking at me with pure shock. “If you don’t like my home then stop coming to visit!” I whisper, “if I stop coming, I’m afraid no one else will.” “Memere” I say a little louder so she can hear me “I think its time to let go of all your things. “My child, you don’t understand, these things are all I have. Your grandfather left me, running off with my best friend! Your mother and her siblings grew up. Beside you my grandchildren are nonexistent. If I give up all my things, I’ll have nothing left. The more people left my life the more things I replaced them with and now they are nearly all I have, don’t you see.” “I do Memere” I respond sympathetically. “But don’t you think that some of us might come back into your life if all your things were gone, that maybe you pushed us away by replacing us with things.” “Well,” she sighs “I hadn’t really thought of it like that.” “I want to help you” I tell her, “I think I know of a way to bring everyone back, but you're going to have to part with your things for me to do so.” “If it’ll bring them all back and you're sure, I suppose I can let go…a little.”

             I spent the next week messaging my mom, aunt, uncle, cousins, sister, spouses, neighbors, friends, any person I could think of that I knew cared about my grandmother. I inform them all that she has agreed to get rid of her things as long as we start to visit her again. They all agree, so excited that she’s finally ready to let go. We arrive the next week and get to work. My grandmother is hesitant at first, but with a heavy heart lets us start taking away her many many things.

             As I wave open a trash bag, she cringes but says nothing. She continues to watch as piece by piece, thing by thing, her lifelong collection is hauled away. We bag, we tag, we haul, we heave, we work from dawn till dusk getting rid of as much as we can. By days end everyone has a seat on the furniture no longer piled with things, instead filled by a loved one of my grandmothers. “Excuse me” my grandmother says “I just wanted to thank you all for coming and thank Annie for putting this all together. I am so happy to see each and every one of you, I now realize that while I did love my things, I love you all more and if parting with them means seeing all of you again, it is worth it. I hope to see you all again much more often now. No need to worry if you’ll have a seat, if the food will be rotten, if you’ll even be able to open the door. From now on my door will always be open!”

             A month goes by, and my grandmother seems to be in her glory. Finally catching up with old friends, seeing all of her grandchildren again, getting news of great grandchildren. She’s living a full life again instead of hiding behind her things. She seems happy, content, she even stopped stealing. But my grandmother is an old woman and ends up in the hospital having fallen ill.

             One day I go to visit, and she says “my dear grandchild how I have cherished our time together. I am so fortunate you helped me give up the things in my life to get back the people in my life. I didn’t realize how much I missed all of them.” “Of course, Memere, I only ever wanted to help” I say. “I know that now. There is one last thing I wanted to tell you though. While I did give up most of my things there is still a box under my bed, I want you to find, there were somethings I couldn’t part with.” “I will find them tomorrow” I promise.

             The next day my grandmother passed away. I walk into her house that doesn’t seem like hers anymore. Though it still smells old, there is no stench coming from the trash, no cobwebs or anything covered in a thick layer of dust, no grandmother sitting in her rocking chair. I can hastily walk through without fear of what I might be touching or what’s touching me. I make my way to her bedroom and feel the box under her bed with my fingertips. It takes a few tugs but finally I get it all the way out. The box is large and completely full to be expected. What would have once been canned goods and stuffed animals has now been consolidated. My grandmother kept everything, but these things are like nothing else. There are photos from when my mom and her siblings were young, drawings me and my cousins once drew her, awards my grandmother won when she was young, an old wedding picture from her wedding day. At the very bottom of the box there’s a note it reads:

Dear family,

As you all know I loved things. I loved to buy them, and you might not know, but I also loved to take them! In this box lies the things I most cherished throughout my lifetime. There are pictures, cards, even a ring I once stole from a friend (well ex-friend). I collected things my whole life, things I thought I couldn’t live without. While my family is the most important to me, I could not let go of these things either. They have been with me for a lifetime like all of you. If you don’t want to keep them when I go, I understand, but I hope a few things resonate with some of you as they did with me.

With love,

                  Doris

             My grandmother and I shared a special bond. While I didn’t always understand why she was the way she was, I think I do now. Letting go is hard, she had to let go her whole life, but things are never ending, she could always get more. While it's hard to let go, I’m glad she held onto these. I hope she passed away knowing she would be missed. Not only her, but Memere and her things.