Every time I came to my mother's, the big suitcase would stand in one corner of the room, and the pattern of scatter and scatter for two or three weeks would continue until the end of the holiday. While I was talking to my mother on the phone before I arrived, I said, "I will empty the contents of my closet, mom, when I come, I will put my clothes in it, the suitcase will not be around, and the room will be more organized." "You'll see when you come, they're all your stuff, I can't bear to throw any of them away," she said.
In the evening of the day I arrived, I spilled all my old clothes in the closet on my bed. After an hour of saying "I won't wear this yet, it's out of fashion, this is too tight for me now, oh this was my favorite dress, let me try this", the wardrobe was empty.
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My mother had collected my jewelry buckles in a bag and hid them in the second drawer. “Take a look at whatever you don't use,” she said. I went and looked at all of them. I had a small hand mirror that I never used, which was brand new in its box. The cover is specially embroidered. My colleague brother gave me this mirror on my 20th birthday. I didn't know what it meant back then. Later I learned that it is a tradition to give a mirror as a gift, it means "I couldn't find a better gift than you". He was a very sensitive and kind man, I remembered his brother when I looked at myself in the mirror.
Inside another black box, my silver bracelet, earrings and necklace set lay gracefully, as if blackened, worn out, offended, and somewhat forgotten. Apparently they needed polishing and maintenance.
And I got a wristwatch. How bad I felt. Before he left, he took it off his wrist and gave it to me. While I was crying, he patted my back and left. It was a precious watch. I could neither give it to anyone nor throw it away.
When the hour and minute hands stopped moving, that's when my heart was collected too. It's true, time heals everything.
I bagged and stashed the memories again on one side of the drawer. I placed my clothes on the shelves of my closet from middle school.
I went to bed in the evening, I slept, but one morning I woke up that my neck was stiff and my back was bent. Yes, it was left in my bed from my middle school years. Only now do I understand why I wake up tired every morning on the way to work. I said, "Mom, should we change these old-fashioned beds?" It was said, "Why did I put two layers of thick blankets on you so that your back wouldn't hurt?"
Nothing is easily thrown out of our house, even our 30-year-old showcase, the glasses in the showcase, the table, the chair, and the carpet.
Maybe my mother's habit of keeping memories was passed on to me, who knows?