Honeysuckle fades to dirty sidewalks
It’s never easy to break away and someones feelings are always hurt. My mother’s death changed something in me, something that made me stop and look around wondering to what purpose I was living. It was a burden, a cliché and overwhelming to exhale and look around at my life.
Losing your mother, especially if she was your sole parent, is a loss that actually feels like a hole. There was something carved away and raw feeling that I had to just wait for it to scar over but a mark that would not fade with time but will grow to be a part of me-seamlessly obvious. It was such a surreal time and there are huge gaps in my memory of what I did, day-to-day, during that time. I mean, I remember her dying, the after of calling the funeral home from the ICU, the funeral, deciding to clean out her fridge with like 12 people in her tiny 11 foot wide kitchen, my friend Mary who came and rescued me, the endless phone calls and retelling the story whether people called to hear it or not, forcing my husband to go back to Cape Cod and tend to our animals, filing my nails and watching TV in my mom’s house all alone, being at home but not the plane ride home and washing dishes while my father in law hugged me voluntarily for the first time and welcoming me home, a blur of winter in Ptown and then its the summer.
Then we decide to move away. We move away in the middle of the summer which is weird but I can’t stand it. I have to leave. I tell my husband he doesn’t have to come but I am going.
I felt like I was constantly chewing my foot off stuck inside a sharp toothed trap. The shock of it all. Living in her house, finding new jobs, refinancing her house into my name.
I stripped away all that was hers and made it mine whether I wanted it that way or not like some twisted scavenger hunt I was being forced to embark upon. Along the way I collected some of my own things and laid claim to things that were hers and now mine.
The list of items keeps growing, the items yet to be found.