Things My Mother Left Behind

Shortly after losing my mother at the end of last summer, I found myself faced with the enormous challenge many adult orphans must contend with: going through her home and rummaging through all of her belongings – in addition to some of my father's leftovers – items totaling up to a life that deserved more time on this earth. And as an only child, I found myself bearing most of the brunt of this responsibility. 

Over the course of several months, I traveled to and from Florida to assess, collect, and ship what needed to be donated and what I wanted to keep to honor my mother's memory. This process triggered so many memories via photo albums, souvenirs from family vacations, and precious keepsakes handed down through generations. 

Some things were easy to let go and send to the nearest Goodwill. Some things I was obligated to review, like bags of old mail, bills, and various paperwork my mother had collected over the last decade. And the rest I knew I wanted to hold on to – sentimental mementos and cherished pieces of furniture. She was an interior designer and took pride in some of the pieces she brought into our home.

As I write this, I realize there are tens of thousands of people in Southern California who have lost every single one of their possessions in the January wildfires that ravaged parts of Los Angeles County. I write this with some survivor's guilt, knowing how difficult life continues to be for so many families throughout the city I live in. I write this well aware of the embarrassment of riches I find myself wading through as I continue to mourn my mother.

But I feel compelled to share this part of my grief journey – as insignificant as it may seem to an outsider or someone who has yet to go through this process. These items are more than just an inventory of things left behind by a woman who always encouraged me to broaden my horizons (a general life lesson she instilled in me). These collectively offer a tiny glimpse into a life that deserves to be known more to the world. Because she was my world. 

The Novels of Agatha Christie: 

I've written before that my appetite for reading was nurtured by my mother, and she was a lover of murder mysteries, particularly those solved by detectives with British accents. Her bookcase resembled my own; instead of names like R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike, her shelves were dominated by Agatha Christie. And now, her vintage paperback collection sits atop the bookcase in my living room – along with some new editions – her presence felt every time I look at it. 

Japanese Clock: 

For years, this rectangular piece from my father's homeland was the centerpiece of our living room wall in New York, situated between two pieces of framed artwork that hovered above our couch. It was well positioned in our line of sight, a reliable beacon of sorts to remind us of the hour. Over time, it became an icon for a space that hosted holiday gatherings and ordinary moments we took for granted. I have yet to give it a proper place in mine. 

Miniature Animal Figurines: 

My mother was a fan of Red Rose teabags. They were packaged in boxes that always came with a free collectible statue of an animal or figure. Koalas, elephants, tigers, parrots – they all accumulated into a canister I recently reopened. Half of them, mostly duplicates, I gave away to my neighborhood Buy Nothing group on Facebook, and the rest I now keep on a glass shelf inside the hand-painted Asian secretary cabinet my mother loved. 

Egyptian Address Book: 

My mother remained analog up until the end (a stubborn Boomer), and she loved this volume of pharaoh photography that also contained pages of her contacts. As I flip through it, I am faced with names from the past, family friends long gone, forgotten coworkers, and names I don't recognize – all written in her signature all-caps penmanship.

Vintage Muppet Show Mugs: 

This slice of 1978 nostalgia was usually hidden in the back of our kitchen cabinets, hardly used because my mother had so many other cups and mugs to serve tea and coffee during holiday gatherings. These collectibles were from before my time (before she even married my father). I once used the Miss Piggy mug to drink my morning coffee, picturing my mother doing the same in another other time and place. If these mugs could talk...

Mom's Brag Book: 

Also known as the mini photo album documenting the first year of my babyhood. In it you'll find pictures of me splashing in the bath, rolling around the navy blue quilt on my parents' bed, and looking at the camera, caught off guard by its flash. When I look through it, I am reminded of the time she once told me that I was her best accomplishment in her life. I was her "something to brag about." 

Japanese Silk Satchel: 

This pouch has been in hiding for God knows how long. I have no idea where it came from (most likely our first family trip to Japan when I was nine), but it's in great shape. Perhaps it can come in handy as an accessory for a future Halloween costume.

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A post shared by Hiko Mitsuzuka (@thefirstecho)

There is so much more that I have brought back with me to Los Angeles, a story or memory behind every object. My apartment is filled with memories of both my parents, now more than ever.

All of which leads me to wonder about all of my own possessions. Where does everything go when there's no one left to pass them on to? Does someone's junk really become another person's treasure? Will my old family photographs find their way into a bargain bin inside some used bookshop? Or is it all eventually trashed into oblivion? 

It's soul-crushingly sad to think about, but I can't let my mind wander off like that. I need to remain present. I can celebrate what my mother and father left behind, but I also need to carry those memories – that love – forward.  

@TheFirstEcho