Continued from Part I

An unlabeled box caught Sherry’s attention. Great. Probably a bunch of miscellaneous junk. She made a few hasty slices through the packing tape. Old crochet supplies. Her mother had tried the craft but never really took to it. Sherry started to put it in the pile to donate, but when she lifted it, it seemed heavier than it should for a bunch of yarn and some guide pamphlets. That’s odd. She set the box down again and reached inside to rummage around.

Something solid was at the bottom, and she pulled out a large black book she didn’t recognize. Her pace slowed as she noted the worn leather cover. Carefully, she opened the book and discovered what must have been her mother’s childhood scrapbook. Sherry gasped as she turned the pages and saw pictures she’d never seen before. She unfolded an old newspaper clipping announcing her mother the winner of a county-fair beauty pageant. Another page displayed an eighth-grade report card with “Outstanding” written in the area reserved for comments. She couldn’t read the others—tears were blurring her vision.

“Ugh . . . I thought I was through with this,” Sherry muttered as she briskly wiped her eyes with her sleeve. But it was no use. Fresh tears were coming before she could even turn the page. For the first time in months, she felt a chink in her armor of self-protective anger. She cleared a space on the floor and sat down with the scrapbook.

For the next hour, Sherry went through the pages, lingering over every image of her mother. She traced a finger along the edges of a photograph taken long ago and laughed aloud. It was a picture of her mother in her early teens, wearing a large, silly hat and puckering her lips dramatically for the camera. It perfectly captured the fun-loving spirit her mother had always had.

Sherry closed the scrapbook and hugged it closely. It was a part of her mother she had never known, and it made her feel closer than ever. Suddenly she didn’t feel bitter about doing this job. She wondered what other treasures she might find.

“Kitchen” was written on the next several boxes. Sherry had already collected some special things from her mother’s kitchen and hadn’t planned to go through these remaining trifles. Yet she couldn’t resist opening every box . . . just in case. Slowly and carefully Sherry cut the tape and peered inside. She picked up potholders stained from years of baking and fingered flatware scuffed dull with use.

“No,” Sherry told herself firmly as she felt her resolve waver. “I can’t keep everything. Where would I put it all?” She re-taped the box and set it aside.

The next box was labeled “dish towels and table linens.” Good, this one should be easy. But wrapped in one of the towels was the old recipe box her mother had relied on. How did I miss this earlier? Reverently she lifted the lid and flipped through the cards, recognizing casseroles and desserts that had been in their family for generations. Sherry smiled when she thought of all the special times she had shared with her mother, preparing meals. Her fingers lingered on the recipe box as she placed it on the growing pile of things she planned to keep.

As she pored through more containers, she lost track of time. Not until she heard the familiar chime of her cell phone did she notice that the sun was descending on the horizon. Laying down an armful of dresses, Sherry reached for her phone. “Hey, Joe,” she said, recognizing their home number on the caller ID.

“Hi, sweetie. How’s it going over there?”

Sherry blew stray hairs off her forehead as she surveyed the room and sighed. She hadn’t even gone through half of the boxes. “Uh . . . slower than I thought, but OK.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you?”

“No, no. I’m fine. This way I can go at my own pace.” She didn’t want an audience as she agonized over things like whether to keep her mother’s ragged housecoat, or as she carefully preserved things that seemed silly, like the wrinkled grocery list in her mother’s scribbly handwriting.

“Well, call me when you want me to pick up the stuff for the estate sale.”

“Sounds good. I’ll work a little longer before I call it a day.”

Sherry closed her cell phone and turned back toward the pile of clothes she’d set aside. But as she scanned the piles she had yet to sort, fatigue settled in from all the tension and emotion. Strangely, though, she also felt lighter. The knot of anger that had clogged her heart for so long had dissolved.

She ran her hand affectionately over the nearest box. “For another day, Mom,” she said softly. “We’ve accomplished enough for today.”

Return to Part I

This excerpt used by permission.
from Hugs for Scrapbookers © 2005 Stephanie Howard
All rights reserved.
Published by Howard Publishing Co. Inc.