Gaudiness, tackiness, or impracticality has no relevance when you sort out someone’s house after the funeral. Everything from their diamond rings to the Cream of Wheat in their pantry can be an heirloom. Their personality becomes an heirloom as well. They will always be the person who ate toast with jam for breakfast, and was not afraid to buy herself diamonds, and stubbornly asserted that everyone should have a nice, neutral suit in their closet because they don’t want to have to be rushing out to Filene’s Basement at the last moment to get one. Death is an opportunity to accept this. Even if you consider yourself a humble and non-material person, wearing a gold ring that has the pull of ten diamonds at your finger keeps reminding you, “This is your mother’s. Make her proud.”
We don’t need Chanel No. 5 and Tiffany’s to remember who Judy was. We love them because they were her indulgences, and therefore ours. What we really need are the memories of her that we are surprised to find in each other.
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