My father died at the end of the summer. He was 3 weeks short of turning 93. He was a very bright, kind, tall, and handsome man. He tied with a girl in his high school senior class for valedictorian. Interestingly, they gave her the title rather than have them share it. He was in Hiroshima in WWII 10 days after “The Bomb” was dropped. All of the pictures he shot there eventually developed black spots all over them.

He became a Colonel and then Commandant of the Army reserve in Kansas City. He worked for Hallmark Cards for 46 years. He and Mom traveled to over 100 countries as soon as I got married and cleared out. He was married to my mother for 70 years, and never quit adoring her. And he was the best father in the whole wide world—ever!

So after his funeral, my husband Don and my daughter Jill (also an interior designer) and I started the process of moving Mom to assisted living. Obviously, that meant going through everything in their house. They had already pared it down twice before. We chose what Mom loved most and would work best in the small 450 square foot apartment she was moving to. Our goal was to create a mini John and Mary home—but just for Mary. We were feeling very protective of her, and wanted this next chapter of her life to feel as safe and happy as possible. Now it was her turn. We reworked and flame proofed the pretty butterfly draperies that she loved, and I had designed for her 11 years earlier. They helped make the only window seem larger. We took her half of their adjustable bed and had a soft and feminine upholstered headboard made to give the plain room more color and pattern. Besides splitting the beds, the hardest thing was keeping just one of their two reading chairs. We kept the sofa for potential sleepovers. We kept lots of table lamps that she liked, to make the room as bright and cheerful as possible. We changed the ugly commercial ceiling light fixtures to simple 3-arm chandeliers on dimmers, to enhance her lighting options further. Of course there were concessions on our part with the fire marshals and their sprinklers! We kept the furniture out of a wide path down the center of the two rooms, to allow for her walker and wheel chair. Goodbye cocktail tables and rugs.

Mom was very practical in her choices of what to take and what to leave. If anything, Jill and I encouraged her to take more sentimental things. We moved bookshelves and lined them with her favorite books, and all her years of loving work with family and trip photo albums. We angled her lighted curio cabinet in the corner and filled it with her most beloved trip momentos, and suggested leaving the light on all the time as a nightlight. And we learned more patience, respect and understanding of growing and living old.

After having passed along special items to the family, Jill and I proceeded to take anything remaining that we loved. Most of our choices were sentimental reminders of family dinners, kids sneaking into a candy jar, salt and pepper shakers that Mom had always cooked with, my Grandma’s trunk that was painted with roses when I was a kid. And as our piles grew, it hit me: were we trying to bring both Mom and Dad, our youths and our years of family times, home in boxes and bags? But we couldn’t! Bringing Dad’s robe home to wrap up in would never be his hugs. Those robes could never smile and say “Hi, Honey!” to me.

So as I said good-bye to my Dad, and figured how to set up my Mom for very senior living, and placed into our home the most special things that I chose to bring back--I saw the seasons changing, I saw my life changing. I’ve never known this world without my Father.

My work is to make people’s homes as lovely and comfortable as possible. But in the end, it’s the love of the people and the animals in each home that make it beautiful.

Jean.

P.S. I came home and gave away and threw out at least half of what was in my attic.