| Grief. Everyone processes differently. I tend to take it in and lock it up, not to see the light of day until I am alone in my own darkened room.
For now, I have done and will do the things that need to be done. I held my mother's hand as she took her last breath, her heart beat it's last beat, and her hand squeezed mine and then was still. I go through her apartment, muttering, "oh mom", at each and every predictable find: plastic bags full of plastic bags, a pack of kleenex and a tube of lip balm in every pocket and purse, accompanied by a pen and a book of matches too.
In the 20+ years since our two-hour talk on the phone, when she told me she was going to hell and so was I, she had come to accept me for who I am and accept my life partner for who she is. And through all the difficult times, regardless of her religious beliefs, I was always and ever will be her daughter, whom she had never turned her back upon. |
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