The idea for this blog came to me while I was sitting in my car, trying to grab a quick nap before work. The night before, I’d spent hours in the ER after Mother fell—hard enough that every nurse at the care center heard it. She needed a CT scan to make sure nothing was broken or bleeding. Thankfully, she was okay. They sent her back to the care center, and I went home.
Home, where piles of her boxes have taken over my living room, kitchen, and bedroom. Boxes of things to sort. Boxes of photos and mementos waiting to be scanned and shared with the family. Possessions that need to find the right person—someone who will actually want them, cherish them, remember the stories behind them. Heirlooms that deserve shadow boxes, careful framing, and a little historical context so they survive long enough to matter to future generations. And then, of course, there are the storage units.
Mother has been in the care center for a year. So why am I still drowning in all of this?
The truth is, the family is large and scattered. Trying to navigate the needs, expectations, and emotional baggage of five generations is overwhelming. Some days I fantasize about lighting everything on fire and walking away. My brother jokes about doing the same, yet he panics every time I open a box without him.
Mother had four children. The first three—my brother and two sisters (J, E, and L)—came early in her life. Then there was me. I’m not exaggerating when I say there’s a twenty‑year gap between me and my brother. When I was born, Mother was 40. My siblings were 20, 19, and 17. One sister had her first child before I even arrived and was pregnant with her second. My nieces feel more like cousins than nieces.
The sisters’ families live out of state, back in my home state. I could ship everything to our living sister, L. She’d happily take it all. But would she actually go through it? Preserve it? Make sure our deceased sister’s kids, grand kids, and great‑grand kids received what belonged to them? Probably not. I have nightmares of her passing away and leaving everything to her only child, who has significant challenges. I can see myself becoming conservator by default, stuck sorting through the same mountain of belongings all over again.
Our sister E passed in 2013, and her kids are still trying to divide her things. One niece has so much stuff—and so many medical and mobility issues—that her mother’s belongings are still trapped in the basement. Will her children or grandchildren ever know the stories behind any of it? Or will they eventually strike a match and free themselves from the weight of generational accumulation? Will a flood or mold infestation force a hazmat crew to haul away decades of family history? What happens to Grandma’s rings? Grandma’s piano?
I’m getting ahead of myself.
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