As the days go slowly by, I don't find myself missing my mother less; I find I am missing her more. The shock of her death has now worn off and I am left with only the bitter reality that she is gone, and never coming back. Not only am I left with her memory, but also the cruelness of having to see her name on the mail that still comes for her, that she will never get to open. She loved the junk mailings, the catalogs, and the free return address stickers various organizations would send. As I pull her mail out of the post box, I smile sometimes; thinking how much she would have loved the stickers sent by Disabled American Veterans.
In a couple of the bins I cleaned out, I found unfinished knitting projects she had started and became too sick to finish. She never taught me how to knit, and I never wanted to learn, but I think I will, just to finish the hat and blanket she started.
The dogs, all six of them, are also feeling the effects of her loss. All of them were obese due to the three peanut butter sandwiches and massive amounts of dog food she gave them. They are all slimming down a bit. Now, they get a peanut butter bone in the morning and at night, no more table scraps or sandwiches.
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