A few weeks ago, I returned home from an afternoon at the outlets in Wrentham, having promised my wife that I would throw out a pair of shoes for each new pair I purchased. It was a reasonable request. We have finite space, and the only reason I’d bought a few pairs of new shoes was that I had a few pairs that were completely worn out.
One pair in particular was well past its expiration date. It was an old pair of waterproof black Merrells with no tread and an inner lining that was in tatters. I’d purchased a brand new pair that looked pretty much like the old ones. Nevertheless, of the three pairs of shoes I was throwing out, this one was the hardest. Yes, they were just shoes, but they were also one of the last gifts my mom, Sandy Gobillot, gave me before she died of cancer nearly 19 years ago.
I was 30 when she passed. My first child, my mom’s first grandchild and the only one she would ever meet, was just a few months old at the time. My mom and I had been very close, and dealing with that level of grief during an already sleep-deprived state of new parenthood resulted in nearly half a year of lost memory. I know I executed her estate with my sister. I’m sure I had some wonderful moments raising my infant son. I cannot say I remember very much of that time though.
Which is probably why I have had such a hard time letting go of physical things that remind me of her. I had a hard time selling the car I inherited from her, though it had become too small for my growing family. Christmas was her favorite holiday, and I have many of her old Christmas ornaments that have been broken and repaired many times over because I can’t bring myself to throw them out. So I probably should not have been surprised that I felt a stab of grief when it came time to throw out one of her last gifts to me.
As my Gen X peers move into their 50s and beyond, losing a parent becomes much more likely. As someone who went through the experience earlier than most, I wish I could say that things got easier with time. I can’t say things got easier for me–I just found different ways to deal with the grief.
I look at my three kids and see the parts of my mom that have passed down to them through me. Not just the physical traits, like my daughters’ blue eyes, but the behaviors that remind me of their grandmother. My son, ever studious, but also up for dancing in the kitchen with me when there’s a catchy tune playing. My older daughter’s mischievous smile and sense of adventure. My younger daughter’s silliness, as well as her profound kindness towards others. I can see bits and pieces of my mom in all of them. That, unlike a pair of old shoes, is something I can hold on to.
Eric J. Perkins writes about Gen X for The Belmont Voice. When he’s not writing, he’s the Director of Transformation at Addgene, a life sciences nonprofit in Watertown.