The three (horrible) bears

My sister, Anne, and I spent the first week of my time in New Zealand cleaning out my Mum's little house. For those of you who are new to the story, my Mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer's in January and went into a care home. We needed to go through Mum's house to get it ready to sell.

It was a job that was at times disturbing, often heart-rending, and sometimes hilarious.

My Mum was an avid collector of things.

Which she then proceeded to wrap in gobs of tissue paper and plastic bags and boxes.

These are just a few of the books we unwrapped. Sometimes, there were multiple copies of the same book, especially if they were new. We don't think she ever read any of them.

John particularly liked this purse. 

He actually pleaded with Anne to keep it instead of the black patent handbag to which she was inclined.

Mum had closets full of clothes that she had never worn. Most of them were op-shop bargains, we are sure, but some of them were new with expensive price tags. And sometimes there were multiple copies of the same item! 

I persuaded Anne to model a couple of outfits, because some of them were kinda gorgeous. 

And I could never have squeezed into them!

John took off for the beach after a day or two. Work to do, he claimed, better than hanging around with the girls. Then Anne got sick with some kind of virus, which I managed to catch a week later. 

Sharing sisters!

One day, after hours of sorting and tossing, I walked into the living room where Anne was lying, dying, on her mattress. I looked at this basket that has sat by Mum's wood stove for years.

Those bears are horrible, they've got to go! I declared.

What? says Anne, suddenly alert.

Those bears are horrible, they've got to go!

I'll have you know that my children made those bears, she said, and we both started laughing uncontrollably. Which act usually entails clenching the thighs tightly, because, you know, weak bladders and all! It was worth a good thirty minutes of entertainment, as she showed me the unique qualities of each bear and how she could tell which child had made which bear. 

We rolled on the floor and we cried real tears. 

All she had to say to get us both in stitches again, for the rest of the holiday, was Those bears are horrible!

Now, I don't want you to think we were disrespectful. It was a strange situation, cleaning out one's parent's house before they are dead. Mum has always been a very secretive person but she never threw anything away. 

Not one envelope.

So it was an enlightening week and I think I learned more about my mother than I have learned all the rest of my life. It was good in most ways and helps me to be more compassionate towards her in her present state. Some of the history was rather bizarre and shall not be repeated here, but it just goes to show that still waters run deep. 

And I tell you this, if there is anything in your possession that you want to remain a secret, dispose of it now.

This very day. 

Because when it is discovered, you will not be there to explain it. 

And that is a very bad thing.

And about that grove of trees.

Mine to know and yours never to discover.

And in case you're wondering, there is no documentation!