My Mum left this world forever leaving all her “junk” behind.
She left all her expensive but hardly worn “Iro and Buba” attires. These attires were sewn out of Swiss lace, Guinea brocade and Hollandis Wax. The Swiss lace, she wore only on Sundays to church or parties.
She was known for not wearing the same outfit twice.
Did I mention she did not take any of her chunky gold jewellery with her? The gold jewellery she purchased from traders who brought them back from Saudi Arabia. Some designed by the local goldsmith who lived down the road from us.
I guess she did not want grave robbers visiting her in her resting place.
Those “China” plates… her precious “China” dinner service. If we were lucky, used once a year.
When I was 10 years old, my mum died. The death was somewhat a shock but I dealt with it as children do. Don’t be fooled, children do deal with these things perfectly. However, my innocent mind could not comprehend why my mum did not take her “valuable” items with her.
Certainly, she must need them in her new home.
Today, all the “junk” she left are no more. They have died too.
Being my mother’s daughter, I followed in her footsteps. I too had special “junk” for special occasions, in particular, clothes.
Now and most of the time, I wear what was once my “Sunday best”. I must warn you,sometimes, I look like I’ve been invited to Buckingham Palace for a cup of tea with her Majesty Queen Elizabeth.
Some other days, I look like I had just partied with Kanye and Riri, we exclude Kim. Sorry Kim.
On very cold days, I look like a pimp in my polyester fur coat and bowler hat.
And on very bad days, a tramp.
I am not going to irritate you with the Aha moment that changed my thinking. But I will tell you what I know.
- When I die, I’ll be cremated without my “Junk”.
- My children may not want my “junk”.
- My husband’s new partner (he is a catch) would get rid of them with automatic alacrity.
What is the point of this story, you maybe wondering.
Well, yesterday, my seven-year old daughter mistakenly dropped one of our Wedgewood dinner plate. She felt sad. I was not. To me, it was just a plate, an expensive plate, a faded expensive plate.
My old self would have shouted the house down like my mother did when we accidentally broke her cheap everyday “China” plates. Surprisingly, I was calm.
I explained to my daughter that the plate was just a “thing”. She is smart and she got it. She stopped being sad.
To the mothers at the school gates, who comment and wonder why I dress the way I do. I hope you understand now.
As long as I am alive, I am going to wear and enjoy my “junk”.
In my ignorant mind, apart from the Ancient Egyptians, I have never seen or heard of anyone buried with their earthly stuff. Have you?