They Left Us Everything (35 page)

The house has new owners and I’ve moved back to the city. The contents—and the memories they hold—have been dispersed like seeds to the wind: some to strangers, some to friends, most to family. I’ve hung the fox-head latch from the garden gate— with the familiar
chink-chink
of its ears—on the wall beside my bed in Toronto, and I’ve cleared a room on the third floor for my most treasured possession, Mum’s letters.

Robin has sent me his self-published book titled
Point O’ View Books.
The preface begins “This catalogue is a partial listing of the more than 2,000 books …” I notice with satisfaction that Mum’s cookbooks have their own section, even though it’s an addendum in the back. I’ve sent each of my brothers a self-published book, too: a photographic record of every nook and scratch mark in the house. They seem glad now that I was so obsessive in my mission to catalogue the memories.

A month later I can’t resist going back to Oakville and driving by the house. The new owners have wasted no time in
taking a crowbar to the interior. I peer in through the front door. They’ve gutted the house to its studs, scraped it to the bones. All that remains downstairs is the shell of the staircase, with an ancient, unfamiliar green milk paint revealed on its now-naked underbelly. It’s disorienting—the house is a maze of studs and joists, with holes where once there were windows—but it doesn’t feel sad; it feels hopeful.

The contractor sees me and comes running, asking me to please not come in too far, since I’m not wearing a helmet or steel-toed boots.

“You won’t believe what we found above the dining-room ceiling,” he says.

“A million dollars?” I ask, hopefully.

“No!” he laughs. “A gigantic hornet’s nest, running the whole length of the room! Didn’t you ever hear the humming?”

Acknowledgments

This book took me two years to write—slightly longer than it took to clear out Mum and Dad’s house. I used to think parents should clean up their own mess before they depart this world; now I think just the opposite. Don’t die early. Wait till your children are old enough to appreciate it, and then leave them everything.

My children—Virginia, Carter, and Jessica—were empathetic and loving, as always. They let me slip away for sixteen months to reconnect with my childhood memories. They said “Yaay!” when I told them I wanted to write about it, so I fear one day they will write about me.

I thank my brothers for their love, loyalty, and laughter as I dug into the family home. They were right: most of the clutter was in my head.

The clutter has been replaced by regret—something I swore I’d never have. I wouldn’t have traded Mum; I just wish the last twenty years hadn’t been so thorny. Because then I
wouldn’t have felt the need to put her back up on a pedestal— which is where she sits now.

I thank Pelmo and her husband, Tashi, who, along with their nieces, Wosel and Tinley, devoted so many years to lovingly care for Mum and Dad in their final years; Michael Nightingale, faithful friend to us all; Patricia Goss, who listened to my many confessions and dreams and offered wisdom repeatedly; and my best friend in childhood, Diana Caldwell-Taynen, who shared many of these experiences with me, back then. She tells me Mum was one of the women she admired the most.

Many friends helped me declutter. Heather Chappell, Lesley Fairfield, and Jan Quinlan helped me do the heavy lifting; Peni Patrick and Amelia Farquharson read early drafts; and other loyal friends checked in regularly, just to make sure I hadn’t fallen through a floorboard: Lola Rasminsky, Janine Kroon, Chris Hornett, Joan Vanduzer, Roger Middleton, Isabel Mitchell, Dennis van Dyke, Charlotte Carter, Trevor Collier, Corinne Ong Tan, Judy Hatcher, Fran Bennett, and the “Swim Frantastics.”

A special thanks to the neighbours in Oakville who reached out to me, especially Gloria and Michael Niblok, Phil and Lesley Weingarden, Dick and Cathy Rampen, Rudy Bauer, Sarah Rochon, Brock Mason, and Hugh and Sue Wilkinson. Sybil Rampen kindly invited me to join the Flying Pigs Arts and Letters Club, which meets monthly at her Joshua Creek Heritage Art Centre; and Dale Stapleton, Nancy Schock, Marvyn Roseland-Barnes, Fenela Townsend, and the rest of the “Real Swimmers of Centennial Pool” warmly welcomed me in the mornings for a needed shot of exercise and frivolity.

I am indebted to Mary McQueen, John Dixon, and John Sewell, who spent time at the house advising me on the many artifacts.

No book is written without an editorial support team, and I had a great one: Edith Beleites, who generously gave me hours of advice, often via Skype, from Germany; Ann Ireland, who read an early draft and urged me to “go deeper”; Tracy Bordian, who took my unwieldy manuscript and masterfully sliced it into shape; Karen Alliston, who gave it its final polish; and most of all my amazing agent, Samantha Haywood, who wore many hats during the process: friend, confidante, cheerleader, editor, and adviser. She is the best in the business and I couldn’t do any of this without her.

Two years later, on a cold day in January, after Sam had placed the manuscript with Diane Turbide, publishing director at Penguin Canada, the three of us drove to Oakville. Before she and her talented team began their thoughtful final edit, Diane wanted to see the house and get a feel for the setting. The date she picked, by pure coincidence, was the anniversary of Mum’s death: January 17th. Mum’s geese were visiting and two swans were testing the icy waters. Restoration on the house hadn’t finished yet, but the hornets were gone.

When it came time to design the book’s cover, Mary Opper asked if she could come to my house and look through some photos. She was surprised to find that, instead of neat albums, millions of photos were spilling out of plastic tubs, just like my mother’s. It’s genetic, I told her, and good luck to my children—I’ll be leaving it all to them.

Then the production team gave me the book’s final “birthdate”—August 12th—another shivery coincidence, and I took it as a sign: the whole process had come full circle, from death to rebirth: Happy birthday, Mum (despite what your plaque says); you always said you wanted to come back as a tree!

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First published 2014

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Copyright © Plum Johnson, 2014

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Johnson, Plum, author

They left us everything : a memoir / Plum Johnson.

ISBN 978-0-14-318905-3 (pbk.)

1. Johnson, Plum—Family. 2. Caregivers—Canada—Biography. 3. Adult children of aging parents—Family relationships—Canada. 4. Aging parents—Care—Canada. 5. Parent and adult child. I. Title.

HQ1063.6.J64 2014    306.874092    C2013-906329-3

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