TL/DR: Inheriting stuff from your deceased parents is often overwhelming. On finding space in your heart for the constant reminders and the grief that follows...
I too have my Dad’s Mr. Coffee Maker… a hand-me-down that came after his passing. It’s a good reminder of our early mornings together. And you’re right, it makes a great cup of coffee. Thanks, Tripp, for keeping it non-fiction (a librarian friend’s expression for “keeping it real”)… much appreciated. Press on, brother. Stay strong!
That got to me. My mother has been gone over a quarter of a century and I'm still sorting through family stuff. Perhaps the enduring significance of their stuff in my life is a consequence of never having had children to look forward through, though certainly there has been plenty of struggle for a collective future.
When my mom was still alive, she gave me a cutting from her jade plant, a descendant of a plant that my sister gave to her 30 years prior. Now, maybe 10 years later, I am still caring for that jade plant, and some cuttings have produced more plants. I think of my mom every time I see the plants, and I'm terrified that they will die because of my neglect or watering too much or something else. I don't have my mother's green thumb. But I have her memory and that remains alive in my heart.
My dad is still alive, and this reminds me that I've been neglecting his memory even in my own life. It makes me a little ashamed, though it's a hard relationship. It'd be easier if he were either amazing or awful. In a sense he focused so hard on doing that he often forgot to be, and I think I have suffered for that as an adult. Additionally, I think I've followed in his footsteps until recently, and my relationships have suffered. But he is my dad and he is owed better than I have given. I wonder what I'll have of him after he's gone.
I too have my Dad’s Mr. Coffee Maker… a hand-me-down that came after his passing. It’s a good reminder of our early mornings together. And you’re right, it makes a great cup of coffee. Thanks, Tripp, for keeping it non-fiction (a librarian friend’s expression for “keeping it real”)… much appreciated. Press on, brother. Stay strong!
Thank you, Richard. Cheers from Church Hill.
My coffee maker (not an heirloom) is dripping as I read this. Will savor my coffee in friendship with you.
Peace to you this morning.
That got to me. My mother has been gone over a quarter of a century and I'm still sorting through family stuff. Perhaps the enduring significance of their stuff in my life is a consequence of never having had children to look forward through, though certainly there has been plenty of struggle for a collective future.
When my mom was still alive, she gave me a cutting from her jade plant, a descendant of a plant that my sister gave to her 30 years prior. Now, maybe 10 years later, I am still caring for that jade plant, and some cuttings have produced more plants. I think of my mom every time I see the plants, and I'm terrified that they will die because of my neglect or watering too much or something else. I don't have my mother's green thumb. But I have her memory and that remains alive in my heart.
My dad is still alive, and this reminds me that I've been neglecting his memory even in my own life. It makes me a little ashamed, though it's a hard relationship. It'd be easier if he were either amazing or awful. In a sense he focused so hard on doing that he often forgot to be, and I think I have suffered for that as an adult. Additionally, I think I've followed in his footsteps until recently, and my relationships have suffered. But he is my dad and he is owed better than I have given. I wonder what I'll have of him after he's gone.