Did my mother's belongings save me? Finding solace in her items
I got it from my mama
“Oh my god I love your glasses, where are they from?”
“They’re vintage Gucci, used to be a pair of my mum’s.”
Every time the words leave my mouth I know it’s equally iconic and obnoxious. It’s a double-edged designer and vintage sword–snobby and suggestive that it is one of a kind, scarce. Yet, I can’t help boasting about my Paris Hilton-coded, caramel brown glasses.
When I was 10 my mum passed away. It was unexpected and overwhelming, posing emotions foreign to most young children. It shattered my world. My mum was the one who took me to school or to catch up with friends, the one who would take me out for brunch to debrief my life’s shenanigans, but also the one who disciplined me and instilled so many of my morals. She was my support system, the person who knew me inside and out – my strengths and flaws. So, along with grieving the loss of my mother was mourning all that died with her; my stability, solace, routines and so many of my perspectives.
Leading up to her funeral, I had the option of placing something in her casket. After careful consideration, I selected the cheap emerald green studs that first pierced my ears to place with her. Despite their low value, it was hard for me to give up this pair. They were one of my favourites. Not for their vibrant colour or simplicity, but because they catalysed my love for accessorising and my mother introduced me to this world. Whether I fully grasped it at the time, getting my ears pierced brought me closer to my mum.
I’d always admired her eclectic accessories, but now I could indulge in these adornments too. We now shared this connection.
Every so often she would come across a pair of cute dangle earrings with a bird or butterfly that she would gift me as a token of her love. Occasionally, she’d lend me a pair of her most subtle gold hoops, which felt like being entrusted with royal treasure. She knew how special it made me feel and would decorate me in her dramatic bangles, her vibrant scarves. Both of us laughing, I’d pretend to be her, strutting around our house in her oversized sunglasses and bags large enough to be hand luggage on a flight.
Our connection over these little embellishments brought us together. It was something sacred, isolated to the two of us. Something neither my dad, brother nor baby sister shared.
When she died I was worried that all of our memories would die too.
After her passing, we donated a lot of her clothing. Hanging onto them felt heavy, every garment was a stark reminder of her absence. At the time, I saw little value in these pieces. At ten, my style didn’t match that of a 40-year-old and I was naive to the reminiscence they held.
“You’ll be able to buy your own clothes when you’re older,” my dad assured me, trying to do the right thing by repurposing them to a new home. Despite being true, every so often I wish my dad kept her extensive wardrobe. Mostly, because the relics he kept have become favourites in my wardrobe.
Instead of opting for the quintessential Uniqlo crossbody on my travels, I opted for my mum’s old lime green bag adorned with silver buckles. In a tokenistic way, taking it felt like sharing these experiences and new places with her. Her old glasses are my favourite and have been the icing on the cake for many of my self-proclaimed best looks. Adding a flair of ingenuity, sass and confidence – qualities reflective of the woman she was. Whenever I bedazzle an outfit with her strong silver chains or clunky brown belt that Depop fiends would fight over, I feel like I’m keeping her memory alive.
So, wearing a piece of my mum’s, feels like a small homage to her and a way of celebrating our relationship. When someone compliments an item, sharing the story behind something seemingly insignificant feels vulnerable and special. I’ve never wanted to place immense value or base my worth around possessions. They’re pretty, aesthetic and a way of creative self-expression. I like my stuff, but they don’t compare to the depth of my relationships or experiences. So, it’s the sentiment behind each one of my mum’s treasures that makes them so special.
We all process grief differently and try to retain the legacy of our loved ones in a myriad of ways. For me, wearing my mum’s accessories is a nice way of nodding to her character. To her charm, through literally wearing them. To our similarities, but also our differences– trust me, there are a handful of earrings and necklaces I deem hideous or bags that are incredibly unhinged. But it gets me excited about selecting which token of hers to bring along throughout various stages of my life. It’s also a connection I can share and hopefully pass down to children of my own. As my siblings get older I find myself more willing to give pieces to them. Partially because I felt the small glasses trend dying, I gave my brother a pair of my mum’s Ray-Ban glasses. Whenever he wears them or takes them to a festival she would absolutely disapprove of, it makes me smile, knowing he also resonates with them.
As I’ve gotten older, I love having these heirlooms. It’s a tangible link to my past, with each relic full of nostalgia. So yeah, those Gucci glasses? They’re vintage and designer.