lace curtains

My mum saved everything. She saved every curtain we ever owned. Today, I decided to change up the living room, and needed new curtains. The dark brown curtains she had made for me, last year seemed too dark for summer. I really am trying to brighten things up. Only a month ago, I washed, folded and put away at least twenty pairs of curtains. As I pulled out the curtain bin, and began to choose, I found the curtains she made me for the house in Springvale nearly 8 years ago. They had a tan background with large bundles of red, pink and white roses on them. I picked them up and held them for what seemed like hours, as a million memories flooded my brain. I could see the happiness on her face at my complete joy over my new drapes. She worked hard on them, and it showed. They were absolutely perfect. These curtains reminded me of a time of contentment, a time free of disease and pain, grief and strife. Although the memory was fleeting, I do remember at one time I did smile. I could not use the Victorian rose curtains, not yet. Instead, I chose the cream lace curtains. They did make the room lighter. It is amazing how something as simple as window coverings can provoke such strong emotions.

The long nights

Bedtime, the most trying time of the night. I still say goodnight to her hoping that I will hear her reply. I still don't sleep, well, maybe an hour or two at a time, but never good sleep. As I wash my face, I can see the stress in every inch of my appearance. My eyes look blank, deep dark circles have taken up permanent residence. I always wonder if there will ever be a glimmer of hope left in me waiting to emerge. I doubt it.
I will once again wake up tomorrow hoping that this was all a bad dream; she will be in her room waiting for me to dress her. I still keep both phones by my bed in case the hospital calls telling me they made a horrible mistake, and she is alive and well. Even though I was there with her when she died, I felt the last beat of her heart, I heard her last breath; I still keep the phones near me.
Have I thought about suicide, everyday. However, I cannot justify leaving pets behind with no one to take care of them.
I was even hoping that I would see her ghost. The only ghost in this house is me.

Holding on

As I clean out the house after my mother's death, I am left deciding what to keep and what to remove. This process is easier said than done. Everything I touch hold a memory; her hands once touched every item. She kept things in bins; these things were important to her in some way, important enough for her to save them. How do I discard them? I have decided to wait a year, and get my mind in a better perspective before I remove anything else.
Items I thought I had lost long ago were found in rolled up doilies, things from my childhood, things she saved so I wouldn't lose them.
She was such a strong woman. Even when she was at her sickest she still managed to do a load of laundry, feed the animals, do the dishes. My mother was amazing. I can't even begin to describe how much I loved her.
I thought she could do anything. Whenever I couldn't do something, she could. During her cancer treatment, she never complained. It was almost as if the sicker she got, the stronger she became. When she was unable to walk more than a few yards, she would say that maybe tomorrow would be better. I guess I never really knew how horrible she felt because she never showed her pain. I should have seen it, but chose I think, not to. It was easier on my mind to believe there was still hope, to believe she would recover, to believe she was going to live. If I could turn back time, there is so very much I would change, but I cannot, and have to live with my actions. Did I take good care of her, yes I did, but I could have done better.
June 1, 2010 was the first time she ever needed a wheel chair to get into the doctor's office. When the exam was over the doctor decided that a few days in the hospital was a good idea, her wbc was critically low. She never came out of the hospital. She died June 21, 2010.