It happens in all families so we should not have expected ours to be any different. Several years ago our father had passed away and a couple of years after that it was best that our mother move to assisted living. Where this becomes interesting is that my two sisters, Carol and Emily, and I traveled to Oklahoma to take care of the house, not only the building but also all of its contents. It was like the three of us came from different corners of the country, me from upstate New York, Carol from Texas, and Emily from Oregon. It was a great reason to get together being that in recent years it happened far too seldom.

Since we were going to be taking the better part of a week to undertake this almost thankless task I got a reservation at a Residence Inn where we could have the advantage of each of us with our own bedroom but also living space that included a modest kitchen. One of the first tasks was to stock up on some groceries but also some adult beverages because we did expect some of this activity to be somewhat emotional. The beverages of choice were bourbon, wine, and Bailey’s Irish Cream.Our first morning there, the three of us walked around the house refamiliarizing ourselves with what had once been our home. After nearly an hour we decided to divide up the tasks with Carol taking the kitchen; Emily, the bathroom and me the closets. We then set out to work, which essentially meant deciding what to pack and what to throw away.

“Hey guys,” called Carol, “What do we do with this half case of beer? I just looked at the dating on it and it is going on seven years old. I know mom seldom drank alcohol so it has to be left over from dad.”

“I say we just dump it. It cannot be any good anymore. Besides, that brand made positively awful brew.,” I replied. There were other things that Carol found that just had to be thrown away including a closet full of half empty jars and cans of just about every spice under the sun.The last of the pantry was going to be solely Carol’s effort as I moved on to the front hall closet. There was not much of any interest here, nor was much of it any value. There were several old coats that were now decades out of fashion, four pairs of galoshes including one ancient pair that I suspect my father had worn when he worked for the railroad, and a couple of hats, both men’s and women’s. The only thing that appeared to be of any value was a collapsible umbrella that still had its tags telling me it was new and unused.From there I moved onto the closet in the garage that was filled with old tools and coffee cans of various fasteners, wood screws, and picture hooks. Years ago it had been every man’s practice to accumulate such items lest they be needed for some home repair project. I made a mental note that maybe we should return in a month or two and run a tag sale for all these items that were probably too good not to save but not worth packing and taking with us.

Towards mid-afternoon we were both physically and mentally tired of going through closets, drawers, a bathroom vanity, and a pantry. Vowing to return the next day we locked the door and headed back to the hotel. We all had earned a decent drink and I set out three glasses to which I added some ice cubes from the fridge.

“What’s it going to be?” I asked.

“Bailey’s sounds good,” said Carol.“I’ll take one of those, too,” added Emily. I poured myself a bourbon on the rocks and brought the drinks over to the coffee table. After sitting down, we all toasted mom and took our first sips.“Wow,” but that’s good,” said Emily who then proceeded to quaff half her drink. We talked about what we were going to do with the stuff that we didn’t want, but then turned our attention to what we would keep. Since Emily and I had flown to Oklahoma, the only person with a car was Carol who had driven up from Dallas. It was her Ford Explorer that offered plenty of room for those things that we wanted to keep.

“Wes, could you top off my Bailey’s? I think there must be a hole in my glass,” Em joked. I got the bottle and refilled both Emily’s and Carol’s glasses. We drank another toast, but we apparently weren’t done with the alcohol because both women had yet a third glass of Bailey’s and were feeling, let’s just say, relaxed.We decided to go out to a little Italian restaurant that the woman at the front desk recommended. Having been years since we last spent any time in that town, everything was unfamiliar. The restaurant was decent if not gourmet, but they had a liquor license so the three of us availed ourselves of the opportunity to have another round or two.

After a good night’s sleep we got up, made coffee, and ate a quick breakfast before heading back to the family homestead to resume work. I was back in the garage, Carol was still in the kitchen and Emily had moved from the bathroom to the linen closet.At mid-morning, Emily called out to me, “Wes, come look at this.” I went from the garage through the kitchen where I was joined by Carol. We made our way to the hallway where Em was standing. In her hand was a red combination syringe that looked all too familiar.

“I think that was the one used on all of us,” I quietly observed. “It had to have given hundreds of enemas back in those days. Gosh, but I hated having to get one. Although if memory serves me, Emily sort of liked getting an enema, didn’t you Em?"

“Yes, I did and you know what? I still do.”

“What else is in that closet?” asked Carol looking past Emily curious as to what those shelves still held.Emily put the enema bag down, turned around and resumed perusing more ancient partially used containers.

“Let’s see: bottles of Pepto-bismol, witch hazel, and Robitussin. How about a jar of Noxzema? A metal box with some old Band-Aids another metal box of Sucrets throat lozenges, and a seemingly endless supply of hair spray, shampoo, and crème rinse. I think we should just throw all of that away.”As Carol and I were agreeing, Emily found a large flat box under a stack of well-used bath towels. It was marked “Sears Best Quality Fountain Syringe.” Emily, upon opening the box, discovered a red rubber open top syringe in perfect condition. Its hose was also red rubber and attached to the one end was a black vaginal nozzle.

“When we were kids all we knew was this was solely for mom’s use,” said Em. “Look, there’s even a couple of old packets of Massengill douche powder.”

“OK, so what do we do with this thing?” I asked.

“I want to take it back to the hotel,” replied Emily with a glint in her eye.Neither Carol nor I said anything, but I suspect we both knew what Emily planned to do. We wrapped up yet another day of work, piled into Carol’s car and headed to the hotel. We no sooner walked in the door when Carol said uninvited, “Wes, I’ll take a Bailey’s on the rocks if you don’t mind.”

“Coming right up!” I replied and was looking around to see if I could get Emily something, but she was just walking upstairs, with a large flat box under one arm I might add.I poured myself a bourbon and joined Carol on the large sectional. Grabbing the remote, I turned on the TV and tuned into the news. Neither of us said anything, but each did sip at our drinks. After about 30-40 minutes Emily came downstairs and acted like nothing had happened and asked me to pour her a Bailey’s.As I handed Emily her drink, Carol finally broke the ice saying,

“Well, how was it?”

“How was what?” said Emily innocently enough.

“Was it warm and soapy?”

Emily blushed. “It was wonderful. I really need that,” she replied then with a smile.

“You have always enjoyed an enema, haven’t you? Carol and I just don’t understand why.”

“They always made me feel better. Besides just seeing a quart of warm water that mom was going to put up my butt just seemed exciting. It always made me have a huge poop, which also felt really good.”

I exchanged looks with Carol and both of us wore the expression, “Sure, Em, if you say so.”

“So, what are you going to do with mom’s old fountain syringe?”

“I’m going to take it home. It’s got lots of use in it yet.”

“And pack it in your carryon?”

“No, I think it would be better in my checked luggage,” she said draining the last of the Bailey’s from her glass and then rattling the ice as if to tell me that she needed a refill. While I was at it, I gave Carol a refill and then topped off my bourbon.Being in a frolicking mood I raised my glass and said, “To Emily and may her new enema bag always provide her with a good cleaning out.” My two sisters clinked glasses and we all took a swallow.

“You are such a good sport letting our brother tease you about that,” said Carol.

“It doesn’t bother me. Enemas are not prescribed that much, but I tell my patients that their kids would benefit from one sometimes which is true.”

Carol shook her head in agreement and added, “My kids got them on occasion, and I still take one when needed, too.”

That’s when Emily let the cat out of the bag, “I do, too, but a few years ago I even gave Wes one when he came to visit.”

“You gave our brother an enema?” asked an apparently stunned Carol.

“I did. He had been traveling all week and said he was sluggish. There’s only one true cure for that.”Now it was my time to turn red with embarrassment.