When my parents died less than two years apart, my world filled with such emptiness. I missed them so much. Since I was the only child living, my brother died of a brain aneurysm when only 26 years old, it was my responsibility to go through their house filled with 54 years of living. I never counted on dealing with the memories that flooded my mind each time I walked through the door or picked up a piece of paper with their handwriting on it. There were times when I just had to turn around and go home. But I knew I had to accept the job that lay before me.
A close friend of mine suggested having a tag sale. But I wasn't having good vibes about that. In fact, I just couldn't seem to part with some of their belongings. After many a sleepless night and lots of tears I felt drawn back to the house one afternoon. Don't ask me why; I just felt I needed to go home.
On the drive over, I prayed for guidance or a sign; something to help with this decision. When I got out of the car, I felt as if someone one was watching me, but no one was there. When I put the key in the lock and turned the doorknob, I smelled the aroma of coffee. What in the world, I thought and then I heard it. My father said, "What is she going to do? She better think it over." "I don't know," my mother said. I stopped dead in my tracks and for a minute I just stood there. The tone of their voices showed true concern and all of a sudden it came to me.
I knew a tag sale was not the answer. I had to figure out something else. When I walked into the kitchen, no one was there. I looked all over the house; it was as empty as my heart felt. Were they trying to guide me? I felt a sense of peace come over me. I started gathering things to take to the Goodwill or a local hospice store. At least I was accomplishing something and helping others was something my parents loved to do. Now I was helping people in need and I know they were happy with my choice.