There's No Yard Sale for Heartache

Can you make a list of memorable experiences in your life that left a deep impression? If the answer is yes, then you should write about those experiences.

I had so many reflections while running a yard sale with my children shortly after my mom passed away.

A steady stream of light came through my observations of one of our visitors. Since I didn't live in the neighborhood, I didn't know her name. I should have asked her what her name was. She lived next door to the house where we were having the sale.

As a writer, all the thoughts presented themselves into metaphors as I observed the visitor's actions and comments.

A lot of the items being sold included items that belonged to my mom. This was a little over 20 years ago. I still carry those reflections because of the lessons I learned through observation. While I believe our visitor is no longer living because she was aged at the time, I choose to believe we brought her some level of joy when she came by to peruse what we were selling. I also realize now she needed someone to listen to her stories. Also, her visit provided her with something she could do.

Friday morning of the sale

The sale belonged to an older woman who lived next door more than the yard sale's outcome could belong to us. She needed it more than we did.

We sold items on the pavement that caught her eye. We were selling my mom's items instead of giving them away, maybe because it seemed we could add more life to these items. Maybe it kept mom around a little longer as we handled them.

The older woman who lived next door lived alone. We believed she recently lost her husband.

She came over and looked through all the clothes. She bought an old white shirt and a hardly worn pink sweater that used to be my mom's. I'll add right here that my mom enjoyed shopping and had nice clothes. She certainly had a lot of shoes and some were purchased and never worn. She also loved a good sale. Mom could sew clothes, but she loved buying nice outfits too.

There were three long hot days to give new value to things we sold to this woman who lived next door. She would return at the end of each day wearing what she had bought during the day and bring with her new stories about her life and how no one was left living but her. 

I couldn't tell her that my mom had just passed away.

Saturday afternoon

I thought about how it was too bad there are no yard sales for sorrow or heartaches, burdens, or losses. 

I walked with the neighbor down the gray pitted driveway as her tears would define her new existence. 

We charged for used clothing, old pictures, vases, and toys but priceless compassion was a bonus for this woman who lived next door.

Sunday morning reflection

I watched the woman next door sitting next to her dog inside a screened-in porch. I wondered what she was thinking. I wondered if she was going over her life's memories to keep her less lonely.

She was wearing my mom's old white skirt, pink sweater, and my daughter's white shoes that she bought. She was probably happy she had something new in her closet to wear since she probably didn't go out shopping anymore.

I will never forget this experience. I looked down at the money box to see our weekend's earnings.

The loose change was as hard as her thoughts and the folded green bills were rough like the lines against her skin.

© Cathy Coombs