I know the house isn’t Mom. I know the memories I have from her house and of her will mostly stay in my mind for years to come.I know I said I wanted it over and done with. Part of me still did and part of me didn’t.
I think it gave me purpose to organize and take care of things. It provided me with a way to still honor my mother, although she is not here. It’s like a project that I’ve been working on is over. Completed. Done. But I don’t feel satisfaction as if I completed a craft or tee towel this time.
We closed on the sale of our mother’s house last week. I didn’t plan to go back to her house after. I knew how it would affect me. Unfortunately I ended up in the place I didn’t want to be. Sitting in her bedroom a few moments alone I could still see where her bed had been, her dresser, her pictures upon the walls. Tears filled my eyes at that moment and then again as we drove down the street from her house for the final time.
Closing this chapter of my life doesn’t mean that I will not still think of Mom or remember good and bad times with her. It does mean that things are different though. They will never be the same. Family gatherings won’t be for sure, I can see already those are changing. There will be no trips to her house to say hi or watch an old movie with her. There will be no telephone or texts to her asking advice on making something or flower gardening. There will be no more moments of me rolling my eyes of something I don’t approve of she has said or choices she makes.
There will be no more new memories, only the ones etched in my mind. As the bird flies over the wheat field with the sunset as a backdrop as I write this, I too will find a new type of flight in this life.
Grace is a gift,