My mother always had her secrets. I found a few recently while emptying boxes from the final rental storage space. Yes, as I wrote a few weeks ago, I’m still struggling.

I tackled the biggest job first: searching through photo album after photo album full of strangers – to me. Mega-dozens of her white-haired playmates posed in groups in front of Lake Louise, or Waikiki Beach, or the Passion Play in Oberammergau, Germany. My mother went around. And because wanderlust was her middle name, many dozens, maybe even hundreds, of her elderly friends traveled the country and the world with her. She was the tournament organizer and daily columnist with her Instamatic camera. He probably packed a suitcase full of little disposable Kodak needles.

I want these bulky, heavy boxes out of the front hall and dining room. At first, I planned to flip through a few album pages, determine that they were all strangers, and present entire albums. But as I dug, I kept finding surprise pictures of my kids and grandkids slipped into the loose pages. I also try to sort out the odd images that contain cousins ​​or dear friends. I’ll pass them on as surprise blasts from their past.

The smiling strangers, all kept in plastic sleeves, make their way to the circular bin. I am convinced that all these people left because my mother was one of the youngest of that large group and died at 98. Eight years ago. Someone suggested that I donate this massive collection to the seniors in Duxbury, Massachusetts, the group my mother ran for more than a decade. At first, the idea of ​​conservation had some appeal – until I did the math. These pictures are 40 and 50 years old. No current members would recognize any of these people.

But then I came across some big manila envelopes and some old little boxes – all full of photos. From another era. I realized that I had seen some in my childhood, but many others were new to me. All are in sepia tones because they predate color film. The pictures of my baby were mixed with the chubby baby with me in my uncles arms. There were pictures of my parents’ early marriage, some of the families on both sides, and my early years of school, summer camp, and a few birthday parties. These photos are OLD.

Then I thought: WHAT am I going to do with all these old people? And the solution was right in front of me. By hanging on to a few of these quick-emptying 3-inch loose-leaf binders, I could fill Mom’s sectioned plastic folders with the things I want to keep. And then I laughed. I’m doing my kids a favor by removing all these strangers – but – they can do the same for their kids when I leave these albums behind. The only difference is bloodline, family ties. I’ll have to do some heavy labeling.

I hate to think about it, but I hope they wait until my cremations are scattered before throwing them away. My son has stated that when the time comes, he will drive a truck home, fill it up, no matter how many trips it takes, and clean his hands. Slam dunk.

My daughter is more practical. She, at least, will go through the things I’ve indicated are worth keeping and take what she wants. He is welcome, if he is so inclined.

But wait! There are more. Among the pockets and nooks and crannies of my mother’s last remains, I found small boxes, small velvet bags, and bags of Asian silk. More secrets. I grumbled about all the jewelry we donated to fundraising charities. But there were some

definitive surprises from her secret treasure. I held a handful of pearls – single strands, double strands, all real. My mother taught me how to make a difference. Then there was the small bank envelope filled with 39 $2 bills. I think I have some serious investigating to do. There could be more.

After my book went to print last November, it took a long time to get my Publishing 101 living room back to normal. Fortunately, it was a quiet Christmas. This Christmas, however, is going to be a raucous one, and my living room has now become the recently closed Storage Unit 101. I need to make some serious progress – soon.

But honestly, if every nook and cranny keeps offering surprises as I find them, it’s a multi-faceted treasure hunt. The heart-wrenching nostalgia slows my progress, but it’s also become the thrill of the chase. Surprises and secrets. Secret surprises. However I look at this mess, although overwhelming at times, there are still smiles attached. Thanks for the fun, mom.

Marcy O’Brien writes from Warren.