Moonlight Dragonfly

Moonlight Dragonfly

Clearing Mary’s estate was a massive undertaking. It made climbing Mt. Everest seem like a cakewalk. Not that I ever climbed Mt. Everest, but imagining the trek could not be nearly as difficult as selling, sorting, and designating every single item from every single space, upstairs, downstairs, outside and inside, overhead and underneath, from Mary’s house. I wouldn’t call Mary a hoarder, but beyond the average collector, she didn’t leave any surface empty. Plus she had lived there over fifty years and one does amass an enormous amount of stuff if one stays put and never parts with anything, yet continues to collect.

She left everything to her grandchildren and I remember when the grandson contacted me about the possibility of helping them, that his wife wept openly about how hard going through everything had been and they could not begin to know how to go about liquidating a lifetime’s worth of goods, both valuable and worthless at the same time.

As an estate sale specialist, I had come highly recommended and it meant more to them that I had known Mary as my neighbor and would undoubtedly serve their needs with special care and consideration.

In fact Mary was a favorite neighbor. She was a wise woman and the first one to introduce herself to me when I moved in many years before. We became close and she stood as my advocate through many battles with an atrocious association that represented the worst of condominium living – the kind you hear horrible tales about.

We both liked art and antiques and I enjoyed hearing Mary’s stories of childhood growing up in the South, her many adventures as a bailiff in the county court, and learned a lot from her about her personal research into the mystical, astrology, and all things woo-woo. 

Her beliefs were odd yet interesting. She could read a person very quickly and by their mannerisms or expressions tell their sign, or birth order, or any number of not important, yet quite revealing details that stripped that individual of any cloudy intentions. Her bookcases brimmed over with books about every kind of occult, magical, science, psychology, astronomy, afterlife and other publications pertaining to exploration of people and possibilities, both future and past. It wasn’t at all unusual for her to ask someone soon after meeting them, “What sign are you?” or to identify their secrets to them without even needing to ask that oft avoided inquiry.

So it was with great care that I took on the monumental task of clearing her house and touching every single thing that she had owned and deciding how to dispose of it properly. Unlike other estate sales I had organized, this time was personal. I cared more. Things mattered more. I loved Mary and if everything she believed in meant she was indeed watching over me and this process, then I meant to do the very best in her honor and memory.

The stars aligned (or Mary interceded and aligned them for me) and all the right people happened out of nowhere to buy her belongings. There was an inordinate amount of art that I knew very little about. An art dealer showed up. There was tons of silver as Mary treated herself royally and ate with real sterling utensils and kept fine silver place settings and matching pieces. I found a trusted silver dealer who paid fair for it all. There were too many books to count, and a book dealer did all the heavy lifting and carted them away for decent dollars. And so on….

A charity needed the washer and dryer. A neighbor bought a table. The rugs sold at an antique show. The little stuff went to a little stuff dealer. Little by little the mountain that had been Mary dwindled to a manageable amount of items left. Soon it was over. Much sooner than I had anticipated and we made much more money than I could have imagined also. The clients were ecstatic with the results and my satisfaction in pleasing them, and hopefully Mary, soared to meet the fulfilled expectations.

Finally her house was empty. Really empty. Spacious in view of all that had left the premises.

I walked over one winter night and went inside one last time to make sure everything was gone and the house had been cleaned for the new owners. I rang her bell one last time (she had an antique turnstile bell that was always a joy to ring) as a fond memory of all our visits and used my loaned key to go inside. The electricity had been shut off and it smelled fresh. Though it was somewhat dark, I wandered from room to room double-checking from floor to ceiling and simply remembering Mary.

The last room was her upstairs bedroom. I looked up to see a dusty ceiling fan, but otherwise there was nothing left and I stopped for a moment to think of her deeply and wonder where she was at that moment and if she could see me … I know Mary believed in that sort of stuff and what if it were possible? How would I know? I wouldn’t until I made it to the other side and Mary was already there so if there was any chance of communication, now was the time to wonder about it and stop to feel….

I silently said a prayer for her and stopped to ask into thin air if she was satisfied with what I had done for her heirs? I spoke aloud then, since no one was around anyway, and wondered if she could really hear me? I asked her, “Mary, if you’re really still here and if you really can hear me, show me a sign, some sign, anything, maybe something left behind, something I forgot, or let me hear you in some way….” It felt foolish and spiritual and necessary – for us both – at least in that moment. I knew Mary believed in this stuff and she had encouraged me to believe too. Even though I had been through the place a dozen times and I knew nothing had been left or forgotten, I still asked for her blessing.

I didn’t hear anything. The house grew quieter. And darker.

I turned to leave and noticed the moonlight shining brightly through the window from the bedroom across the hall. I smiled. It was a pretty night and the moon glowed in gladness. That was enough, I thought.

Then I saw something sparkle from the carpet in that room. A glittery twinkle on the floor near the baseboard in an otherwise empty room. There could be nothing there I reasoned; probably the moon’s light flickering against the recently revealed wall where Mary’s books had stacked for years.

I walked inside and there! It was large for an ornament. A bronze dragonfly with a very old piece of twine had caught the light of the moon and morphed out of nowhere to rest lightly on the carpet. As big as a hand, how could we possibly have missed this piece? I picked it up and smiled up at the moon from the window. The dragonfly was beautiful and I knew we didn’t miss it at all.

It was Mary’s message to me.

Just Another Lori Story