I always knew my mom’s things would one day be a problem. Not because they were worth a lot of money, but because they were pieces of her. And the longer she was gone, the more people seemed to forget that.
My mother died when I was 12. I’m 26 now, and the only thing I’ve ever really held onto from her, aside from memories, was her stuff. Her jewelry, her wedding ring, her little watch.
And I’ve had to protect it harder than anyone should ever have to protect memories. I just never thought my own dad would be the one to ask me to give most of it away. When I was 15, my dad gave me everything that belonged to my mom.
Not because he suddenly got sentimental — no, it was because his then-girlfriend tried to take some of it. I caught her snooping through my mom’s jewelry box and called her out. She tried to slap me.
My dad ended things with her immediately and apologized. It wasn’t even the first time someone went after Mom’s things. My aunt, his sister, once tried to steal a pearl pendant that had been Mom’s favorite.
I found it stuffed in her purse. That moment stuck with me more than I care to admit. After that incident with his sister trying to steal Mom’s pendant, my dad sat me down.
“Your mom always said she wanted you to have her things one day,” he told me quietly. I nodded. “Then I’ll take them to grandpa’s and keep them safe there.”
He looked a little surprised.
“You sure you don’t want to leave some of it here?”
I let out a short laugh. “Not really. Seems like every time I blink, someone new ‘falls in love’ with her stuff.”
He didn’t argue after that.
I packed everything carefully and sent it to my grandparents’ house. At least there, I knew it wouldn’t mysteriously “go missing.”
Even with all the extra precautions, nothing could’ve prepared me for what came next. When I was 17, my dad met his now-wife, Rhoda.
We never connected, and I moved out the second I turned 18. Since then, they’ve had five kids together, two of them daughters, Lynn, 7, and Sophia, 6. Their wedding took place last weekend, and yeah, I ended up making a scene — but only because of what happened a couple of weeks before.
My dad sat me down for what he called “a talk,” and the moment he said he had a favor to ask, I felt it in my gut: this wasn’t going to be good. “I was thinking,” he started, “it might be nice to give a few of your mom’s things to the girls… and to Rhoda.”
I just looked at him. “What kind of things?”
He hesitated like he knew how ridiculous this was going to sound.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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