|Mom, last time I saw her, healing but sad|
But this one is extreme. Everything must go, except what will fit in one dresser, one amoire, one nightstand. Half a room. My mother's sphere of influence, the breadth of her ownership is now half a room. In a nursing home.
Like going away to college. Only not. So. Not.
I am so filled with emotion I am nearly paralyzed. But I must not be. I have a deadline for this job. That it coincides EXACTLY with my son's first day of school is nearly killer.
I have a bottled up ocean inside me to spill out over this. But not yet. I am beyond words for now. Tucked deep into my sorrow, steeling myself for the endgame that lies ahead, be it months or years.
|My father's beautiful sculptures|
I keep stumbling upon bits of my childhood everywhere I look.
A baby shoe.
A book I read on my father's lap.
A hand-blown glass bauble from the gallery.
A tiny blue pitcher I gave my mother for her birthday.
How do I choose what to let go of; what to hang onto? I can't. It's impossible. But I must, so I do.
It is so hard to keep myself from tumbling down the rabbit hole, getting lost in reverie.
But I can't. I can't. I can't. I... oh my, what have I found here...