What to Keep, What to Let Go, by Merrie Harrison (Cohort 13)

Life is so interesting. Seems there are always so many obstacles and challenges… and wonderful, miraculous moments… and everything in between. I’m coming to see that for me, it is about sorting right now – what I choose to keep, and what must go.

For most of my life, memories of my childhood family and home were primarily unhappy. (And, in truth, memories of my family my entire life were also at that end of the spectrum.) Life at home was hard; it shaped my view of the world as a boulder-filled rocky path up a steep mountain with no shelter and the need to push on – push up – to survive. Thank God for Sheila – a steady, consistently happy part of growing up.  She always brought a smile to my face, and still does.

Shiela was a friend of my parents. She knew them before I was even born, and now she is my dear friend. Shiela has always been petite, proper and fun, full of love and acceptance, always cheery and speaking in her delightful British accent.

Most of my memories of Shiela are from very early in childhood, and always involve the way she created happy times. Her family’s first floor apartment on Alden Avenue and their black lab, “Happy,” who Sheila regularly called “Happy Doggle.” Her reminding me and Carole, her daughter, to take turns riding the tricycle to the corner where the dry cleaners was. Playing in their new house on the corner of Osborn and Dyer. Being put in charge of handing out programs at the Christmas Carole sing she hosted each year. Sheila was the best summer camp mother, the cool adult leading the youth group.

Her husband Peter was pretty cool too. I remember the day my dad took me to see Peter’s latest creation. He made wooden lamps with inlaid metal designs – usually geometric. But this design was different; Sheila had created it. There were two identical lamps, one painted black and the other blue. Each one had Sheila’s design inlaid: a beautiful wild looking horse. The horse was up on her hind legs shaking her mane, about to take off. She was full of energy, anticipation and joy. So full of life. I was captivated.

Sheila and her family moved away when I was in middle school. I occasionally visited them all through college, but then lost touch for almost 30 years.

We reconnected about a decade ago. Shiela had lost Peter to cancer; her memories of him sustained her. Not long after his death, she arrived home to discover her son, Mark, dead by suicide, having struggled for years with severe mental illness. But Sheila’s conversation about him always turned to her respect of him and the memories that made her smile. Her stories often ended, “Oh Mark!” with the twinkle of a mother’s love in her eye.

I called Shiela in mid-October of 2020, just to check in. With her warm embrace pouring through the phone, she inquired about my latest news. I told her about “The Nest,” my vision and fledgling nonprofit to help women remember their purpose, revive their passion and recommit to a full, rich, whole-hearted life.

Immediately, she responded with great enthusiasm: “We need that here; can you come here? You know you are always welcome… we could use you!” She often asks if I will visit, so I brushed it off.

Then I learned of her move. The transition she had spoken of for years was happening. At 88, she was leaving her home and moving to an apartment. A full-service moving company had been hired by the retirement village that would become her home. She was confused and saddened by the things that had already been discarded. There was no one to be with her – sisters and cousins spread around the globe, Carole now in a residence to support her early-onset Alzheimer’s. Sheila was left on her own to sort and decide, and it was overwhelming.

In this moment, she was not the strong, cheery woman I knew.

Within days, I was on a plane to Florida. Pandemic notwithstanding, I felt called. Called to help, but also carrying a sense that healing was awaiting me in the connection. We had rarely talked about my family, but I knew she carried a different perception of us than I did. I had been deeply desiring a shift in my heart related to my family – and myself – and life in general, staying open to what might come.

When I arrived at her house, I was drenched with air hugs and kisses. Love flowed between our hearts like it always did. She showed me around the house. It felt like a skeleton of what I remembered, with scattered piles and boxes all around. Her feeling of loss was palpable – all her memories lingering in the remaining items. She sensed it would be a good move, but the process was hard. She went from one room to the next, trying to make sense of it.

I knew I was there to help her feel more settled about the move – and about life. I wanted to help her reflect on the joys and fullness of her life – while also recognizing the struggles – and the wisdom, direction, and meaning gained from it all.

Of course there was lots to accomplish; there was plenty of sorting to do. I encouraged her to do things that would bring joy as she processed the transition – sit by the pool, go for a walk, read, honor her feelings and talk about what was arising. She shared her life story and her most cherished moments. I listened to her to discern what she would need in the apartment to feel at home.

For several weeks, we went through things: what to keep, what to let go – from small items to large furniture, what would fit in the tiny apartment. From “Let it all go,” to another moment when nothing could go. Each day held a new adventure – appointments, shopping, sorting, and time to relax, enjoy and process.

We settled on some important items to keep. We would find place for all the photo albums from countless family vacations and boxes of memorabilia. There was no rush to sift through them; too many precious memories to let go of.

Of the lamps Peter made, Sheila’s favorite by far were the two horse lamps. She especially loved the one painted blue. That would go with her. When she learned that the horse lamps captured my heart as a child, she offered me the black one. Oh! What a gift!

The dollhouse Peter built for Sheila would travel to the new apartment. She had furnished and decorated it meticulously – each room with meaning. It included two bedrooms – for Mark and Carole – a sewing room for Sheila, a wood shop for Peter. It was four stories tall, with hundreds of carefully selected and placed items – lights that work – a tiny photo album carefully crafted by Sheila with a lace border, held closed with a tiny ribbon.

Her eyes twinkled every time she stopped to gaze at it and share more of its story. She wanted to take it to the new apartment, but only if all of the tiny contents could stay intact, in place. Surely it had to be discarded: the hundreds of pieces would never stay put.

Eventually, a solution: we spent hours each night for almost a week gluing every tiny object and reminiscing. (What a joyous project!)

Move day came. The necessities were organized and put in place for easy use. The photo albums found accessible hiding places. The dollhouse found a prominent place. Peter’s blue lamp central in the living room.

I so badly want to be able to say that she was all settled and happy in her home with new-found purpose when it was time for me to leave. I want to tie things up with a bow as pretty as the tiny one on the photo album in the dollhouse. Everything glued down in perfect order.

But that’s not real life. She’s in need of help in ways she never anticipated. It’s heart wrenching and wonderful to see things coming together for her step by step. We searched out opportunities for her to continue her giving tradition, and various possibilities appeared. She is still sorting and figuring it all out.

I’m grateful to have the positive family memories that were excavated while with Sheila. I am inviting them to reshape my view of life; from a hard and heavy and solitary path, to adventures of exploration and discovery and community. I am sorting and letting go, releasing and forgiving, recognizing mistakes of all sorts made in the past and knowing so many more will come.

The path before me is winding, weaving in and out of the paths of others to create an ever-changing tapestry.  In this moment, I’m thrilled to be focused on The Nest and Indaba, a new project that Denise Keyes Page and I are co-creating to confront and dismantle racism through sharing personal stories.

Stepping out to create change in one’s community takes boldness and courage which is so often met with resistance – fear, hesitation or self-doubt. Questions arise to deter or discourage us. But as my visit with Sheila demonstrated, it’s all about sorting – releasing what no longer serves and listening to the deepest desires of the heart.

So simple, not so easy. Exciting and just a little terrifying.

Will I sit and wonder, or will I leap with energy, anticipation and joy?

My child-heart knows what the horse would do.

For information about The Nest – Sanctuary for women, reach out to Merrie: merrie1231@gmail.com; for information about Indaba, reach out to Merrie or Denise Keyes Page: denisekpage@gmail.com