It's now over a week since Mom passed. I've cleaned out her bureau drawers and closet with my sister, Pat. I sorted her papers, notified social security, the bank, her insurance companies, and numerous others. A basket of mass cards calls to me to write thank you letters for flowers, meals, and masses said in Mom's honor. But none of this bothers me. It's the morning coffee...alone. Watching the birds... alone. Looking up from the newspaper to say, "Can you believe that?" and find she is not there, eager to discuss the latest politics. It's passing her empty room without the hum of an oxygen machine on my way to put another load of laundry in the washer. These small daily activities bring sudden tears. That large empty room, the made up bed. It's being moved to my sister's house next Monday. I'll redecorate and make Mom's bedroom a workout room. Will I still see her face looking up at me? Will I hear her voice in that room? I hope so. I never want to forget. She was too beautiful to forget.
