Sigh. For those in mourning, the countdown to the two-year anniversary of a parent's death is when you step back and say, as I did at lunch, "Shit. That was hard. But it's ov - "
Over? No, it's not. But miserable though it was, I don't want it to be over. There are stacks.
A stack of Mom's letters has moved like a glacier from the top of my closet to the top of my sewing box. The letters on the very top are to us kids from my Technical Grandparents and refer to me as "Em." Ellen Marie. Never caught on.
The next set down in the stack are letters from Mom to the Tech. Grandparents. The top one of those caught my eye this morning and I peeled off the others to peek at it. "This will be the last personal letter I write to you," and then she goes on to say, and I paraphrase, "I'm tired of you telling me I have to work on this marriage and an affair isn't really that meaningful and I tried and he didn't." I didn't read any more.
I hadn't read the stack up till now because the stack is finite, and when I've read it all there will be no more of Mom's letters to read. Now I don't want to read the stack because I'll go through her pain vicariously, which you all know is the real reason I didn't have children.
Dave's coming out Tuesday to truck the living room and office furniture back to New Mexico. (And I did say, "See you next Tuesday!" last time he called. He guffawed.) The files had to come out of the office file cabinet, and those all sitting on my kitchen table, waiting to be culled through. Mostly taxes, receipts, every warranty for every purchase, with some interesting treasures. Dizzy Dean's photo autographed for my Dad. Dozens of family photos. And an "Ellen-young" "Ellen-teen" and "Ellen-adult" file.
Mom cleared hundreds of books out of her house in the years before she died. So any book that's still there must have some great importance, right? I didn't realize that until we moved books out of the office bookcase and I almost tossed The Essential Earthman - THE ANNOTATED Essential Earthman. Mine Mine Mine, as are all other books all mine.
Sadly, I have to negotiate space for these stacks with Gary. I know, he's trying to keep me off the hoarding path. But when all the stacks are gone, done are all one-sided conversations with Mom. And you know how I love one-sided conversations.