Do you mind if I vent a little? Or a lot? I know that doesn't sound interesting... no need to keep reading.
So. My dad died, as you know, in late February. It had been a long year but I was glad it was only one year and not multiple years as some people have to endure under those circumstances. I'm not venting (much) about taking care of the old guy, I accepted that willingly and lovingly.
After his passing, my brother and I were left with the monumental task of clearing out the house. My parents had become hoarders of a sort. Not the kind with food waste on the floor and rats running wild, but collectors who did not know when to stop.
My mom developed a love of the Goodwill and other charity shops in her late middle age. Before that it had been antique malls and resale shops. Somehow she found it in herself to cross that divide and descend into the real bargain hunters realm.
There were several categories of things she collected and when something caught her interest, she was all in. Silverware - mostly silver plate but odds and ends of sterling. I have two dozen full silverware chests, yes, 24!, in my house. My goal is to sort through them and assemble sets for my nieces and nephew and a couple of cousins. Not sure what to do with the rest, just move it on. Silver serving items - large and small pitchers, teapots and coffee pots, bowls, cream and sugars, platters, gravy boats... if you can imagine it, she bought it. There are probably 20 boxes of those in my house. Again, need to sort, distribute, and move them along. Dishware - I lost count of the sets of dishes in the house. Some complete, some partially complete, many random. Lots of pretty patterns. I gave some away to friends and relatives, and donated the rest back to a variety of charity shops. Also, pro tip: no one wants dishes with gold trim! You can't put them in the microwave.
The tchotchkes and figurines were another category. I kept a few - probably too many but they can always go on another trip. But, there are boxes of matryoshka dolls, she probably had 50 or 60 of them. Gave some away, others in boxes. All sorts of Russian folk stuff - painted wood platters, salad forks, decorative boxes, etc. Christmas stuff - ornaments, decorations, lights, too numerous to mention. I kept back all of those until early December and then donated them. Boxes and boxes and bags of it.
There's more, so much more, I can't list it all. Art, art supplies, sculpture, framed prints, books, table linens, furniture, toys, flower vases... It was overwhelming.
And, that was just what my mom collected! My brother had been storing a raft of crap that he collected in the attic.
It was a monumental task to clear it out. I made so many trips to a variety of charity shops. My back was aching every day. While I was doing the heavy lifting, my brother was sitting in front of the tv sorting through the mountain of paperwork left by our father. The majority of it was old and could be thrown in the recycle bin. Some he burned in a backyard fire pit. But, mostly he did a lot of sitting. I refused to deal with his collections of crap in the attic so he had to carry some things. But, trust me, I did the bulk of the heavy lifting.
This is all preamble to the real source of my discontent. I was somewhat prepared to deal with the hoard. I was not prepared for the betrayals.
My dad left all of his money to my brother. Almost $400k, not one penny to his other two children. That was hurtful enough but then my brother assured me that he was a co-owner of dad's house and he would get all the proceeds of the sale. Well, that turned out to be false so I will get a share of that. My brother was furious that he didn't get it all. Furious. Not only that, but I found out about the investment accounts going to him when I tried to put them into an estate account (being the executor, this was one of my responsibilities.) When I contacted the bank and the investment broker they informed me that the accounts were closed and had been disbursed. I went over to my brother's house and asked him when he had planned to tell me this. He shrugged and said, 'After the house was sold, I guess.' I'm sure he just wanted to make certain that I continued working like a hired hand. I could not be more disappointed in him as a brother and a human being.
The second betrayal was when I decided to go through my mom's paperwork. I took it all home with me to sort it out in the evenings. I was actually looking forward to reading what I would fine. My mother was a wonderful writer and I knew that it would be like hearing her voice again. I have a couple of boxes of drafts of stories and those were fun to read. But, I also found a grocery bag of old letters. Some were from old friends of hers and my dad, people I knew from childhood. But, there was a big collection of letters that my mom had written to a friend and the friend had sent them back. Some people would find this odd, but I could tell that my mom had been working out an idea for a novel and running it by her friend for feedback. So, the friend sent those letters back to my mom. I can't even remember what the theme of that novel was because the rest of the letters were so horrible and hurtful.
In the letters my mother wrote how awful I was, what a disappointment I was, what a failure. She complained about me in the most vindictive and vituperative language. She thought I was a bad mother, that I had never lived up to my potential, that I was hard to be around. It was the most thorough character assassination I can imagine. I was completely blindsided and utterly destroyed by it. None of this did she say to my face. None of it. She was pleasant and affectionate towards me. I thought we had a good relationship. It was all a sham. Now I know why the majority of her friends were so dismissive of me.
The irony of this is that of their three children, I am the one who always championed Mom. My brothers were all about Dad. My younger brother has said the most horrible things about our mother while always aligning himself with Dad. My older brother is not much of a figure in all of this, mostly because he lives on the east coast and also because he is on the spectrum and has always held the family at arm's length. Thankfully, he is not like that with his own family.
I thought that my mother and I were on the same page. I thought we had a strong relationship based in love and mutual respect. I couldn't have been more wrong. I am left with a gaping hole in my psyche.
I put those letters in a separate bag. My plan is to burn them at the Winter Solstice and release all of the bullshit and negativity. It will take more than that, of course, but it will be a symbolic release. I know that I am not the person my mother describes in her letters. I know that I am a good person, a good mother, a good friend. I'm not a failure. I know this and I will probably be spending a long time coming to terms with her nastiness. It reflects more on her than on me but, wow, was it hard to find out.
So. That's me venting. Thanks for reading.
xoxox
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