#family #TreasureHunt #caregivers

Mom’s health is vastly changed since last year’s 89th birthday. She’s still a little sweetie, and she’s as easy to enjoy as a pint of mint chip ice cream.

Her pain level and mobility keep her in bed and a wheelchair more often. We needed some equipment to improve daily function. Like a bedside table and an adjustable twin bed.

Mom’s small room held hidden treasures she’d not seen in years, plus a queen size bed squeezed in tight.

Mom—”Take that sparkly necklace to Hannah. Oh. And I think Camille will like that silver earring set.”

My sister, a niece, and I plundered Mom’s bedroom. We purged the boxes in her closet, containers stashed in corners, and accordion files of documents.

Me—”Is that a jewelry box?”

Mom—”Where? I have a jewelry box?”

Me—”It’s more of a jewelry chest. See? Like a miniature dresser. I found it hidden behind that box.” It was a vertical chest of polished mahogany wood—six drawers, with two glass side-doors.

Mom—”I forgot about that. Haven’t seen it for years.”

Jangles and chinks sounded from the chest when I picked it up from the floor.

Sis—”There’s a lot of jewelry in it, Mom.”

Mom—”Go ahead. Open it up.”

The chest sat before me on Mom’s bed. I remembered it. I opened the doors first. Memories flashed and twinkled with the metal…the silver necklace from her cruise to Mexico…a wooden cross from Italy…even her wedding ring she and her husband purchased in Ireland. Her history of days gone by hung or lay inside the box.

Mom’s eyes softened when she watched me pull out the objects.

I squirmed under her scrutiny.

Me—”It feels like we’re pilfering. Plundering and pilfering.” Kind of trespassing, too.

Mom laughed. “It’s time to pilfer girls. And I’m enjoying it.”

There we have it. Permission to pilfer granted.