Mom’s Stuff

Rachel Fast Billups, colleague and online friend recently wrote eloquently of an experience, many of us have known in one form or another—-

This past Friday and Saturday, I found myself in the basement of my momma’s house, knee-deep in memories, mouse droppings, dust, and a whirlwind of emotions.

The task was simple: clear out the basement. Yet, the experience was anything but simple. As I moved from one box to the next, the journey took me from grief to frustration.

Each Tupperware container, every to-go box I picked up made me wonder, “mom, why did you keep this?” She was a collector, a canner, a gardener, a homemaker, and a human who struggled to part with nearly anything.

My momma had this unique way of finding value in things that many would see as trivial. She kept items that seemed unimportant, yet each one held a piece of her story.

Our stories are a mix bag, aren’t they?

Full of what others see as beautiful treasures, and still others name as junk. Sorting through the basement, led me to think about the kind of legacy we leave behind—not just in the big, grand moments, but in the small, seemingly inconsequential things that make up a life.

Each item was a testament to her 71 years of life, over 50 of which were shared with my dad.

It’s incredible how a life built over decades can be sifted through in just a couple of days. It nearly takes one’s breath away.

There’s a powerful sermon in this experience, one about life, love, family, and even stewardship: to recognize the value in the time shared with the people we love, to understand that our possession, no matter how precious, are merely temporarily “ours.”

Nothing articulates that more clearly than a dumpster full of my mom’s treasures.

Cleaning out that basement wasn’t just about decluttering a space; it was about honoring a life lived fully. It was about coming to terms with loss and finding joy middle sorrow—horrifically beautiful.

As my dad, sister, brother and our families came together, we gathered not only to clean the basement, but we came together to laugh, to cry, to remember, to grieve well, and support one another through it all.

I’m not sure how pleased or not pleased my momma would be with clearing the basement, but I know this, our family spent the weekend surrounded by the memories of her life and legacy.

We love you momma.

— If I may — My own mom and her stuff: from a house, to an apartment, to a room, to a shared room, to that moment when her stuff didn’t fill the trunk of my car after her body had left the nursing home in a bag on a stretcher.

And it was a very small car.

And that was several years ago.

But.

Mercy.