The Absence of Her...

My mom passed away. It is the absence of her that pains me the most. I'll be sitting at the computer, and before I know it, I've stopped what I'm doing, my body frozen in space and time. I'm cocking my head to the side, to listen to see if I hear her waking up in her bed down the hall.

When you are at home and a relative is nearby, intuitively, you know when they are about to come out of the room. Without realizing it, you anticipate experiencing their presence. I have that same anticipation, but the experience never comes. My mom was very sick for a lot of years. For me, every waking breath was devoted to taking care of her. Everything else had to wait. Now that she's gone, everything is still waiting, but without a reason.

It is the absence of her that gets to me. Like when I'm on my way home from work, and, for a split second, my mind tells me I'm coming home to her. But, when I get home the apartment is empty. Silent. There is no movement at all. It has been replaced by a terrible finality.

As I enter the apartment my eyes come to rest on her puzzle book on the shelf. No new pages have been completed. A box with papers is beneath it, with the lid slightly ajar. It is as if she was about to fix it, and, quite suddenly, was distracted. Her radio is on the night stand, it's presence at her disposal.

The mug she drank from is in the kitchen cabinet. It is clean and waits patiently in case she needs tea. Her wheelchair is right outside the kitchen, near the front door. That makes sense because she will only need it if she goes outside. The blanket that we used to cover her to keep her warm when the weather got cold is neatly folded and resides in the seat of the wheel chair. Everything is ready and waiting for her to come back. But she doesn't. It's the absence of her that reminds me she will not be coming back at all.

When my uncle died, someone packed up his clothes in a laundry bag. When I entered his kitchen, the bag was on the floor, and his hat sat perched on top of it. It looked forlorn to me. A hat without a home. I only saw what wasn't there, my uncle.

I miss my mom every single day. When she first died I had this strange feeling for the longest time. It felt like life was taking me down this road which led away from her. And, in fact, every day that passed took me further and further away from the day she died.

Is it better to keep her clothes in the closet or give them away? In the closet I feel like I have a little part of her still. But at the same time, they are always in the same place. They never get dirty, never get worn. Never move. It's like they're waiting. But she won't be coming back.

If I give the clothes away, it feels like I'm losing the last tangible part of her that I can see. When I hug her dress, there is no life there, no movement. It is the terrible absence of her that gets to me. Time does not heal all wounds.

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