Lately I have sat staring blankly at the empty post form on the computer screen in front of me. Perhaps I have "writer's block" or maybe I just haven't yet worked through some of the emotional trauma of the past few months. In some ways I have succeeded in blocking out the pain of my mother's passing. Maybe that's common with full time caretakers, I don't know, but there is a part of me that just doesn't want to go there... and then there is another part that desperately wants to fall apart and sob uncontrollably.
I'm not sure exactly when she began to slip away... She often appeared to be there when she wasn't, and then there were times when she was more present than we imagined. One of the most difficult things was that we didn't talk about it with her. It was like we were all keeping a deep, dark secret that would maybe go away if we could just ignore it long enough.
I looked for my copy of Mom's memorial service today but didn't find it. I must have packed it into the box of my own stuff that I cleaned off her table last weekend. Maybe it's not really a good idea to cry this afternoon anyway. Perhaps listening to Dad sing is a better idea.
Fredrick Douglass Murals.
1 hour ago