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Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Unwanted Decisions

I haven't posted an entry since the first day of the year. Forgive me. I know I'm behind. I guess I've felt a little depressed lately. Actually, there's no 'guessing' involved. I have felt depressed lately! I've accepted my mother's death, but I still yearn to call her: to speak to her on the telephone like we were able to do only weeks ago.

Although I no longer physically reach for the telephone, there are many instances when I find myself wanting to call her. This may be instinct that comes from living so far apart during the last twenty years. Because of the physical distance between us, I didn't get to see my mother very often. The telephone was our stable means of communication. We'd often call each other at least a couple of times a week. Sometimes it was more frequent, depending on what was happening in our respective lives.

The first two days of January were the most difficult for me. My mind urged me to pick up the phone several times throughout the weekend. It was almost as if I had forgotten Mom was gone. Was it because it was a brand new year? Did my brain 'forget' the past? I can't even begin to count the number of times I thought of telephoning her. I wanted to 'just talk.' I wanted to tell her how well Jayson was doing after his trials of the previous week. I wanted to talk to her about Justin coming down with the flu. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her and loved her. There were so many things I wanted to talk to her about. This yearning went on for about two or three days before my mind was suddenly snapped back to reality.

My father called and briefly mentioned cleaning out my mother's closet again. I didn't know what to say to him. Would I make him cry if I told him of my feelings? Not wanting to take the chance, I changed the subject. I'm not really sure what I ended up talking to him about but it wasn't my mother's closet. Perhaps I'm the one whose not ready to discuss this most delicate of subjects? My mother's closet holds the very last 'essence' of her. The clean scent of her soap and sweet smell of her face cream have long been embedded within Mom's clothing. Her assortment of dresses, sweaters, blouses and slacks hang from their rods untouched and alone now.

Together with Mother's closet, I know there are many other jobs waiting for me to take care of when I return to Arizona. I'm glad my sister, Brenda will be there to help me: physically and emotionally. My mother's 'side' of the bathroom needs to be cleaned out too. Her personal items are waiting to be sorted through and removed. I can picture Mom's combs still grasping precious strands of her wavy, brown hair between their silver metal teeth. Visions of her make-up brushes all dusted with rosy blush and loose finishing powders are resting in a vinyl case nearby. Tubes of Mom's favorite coral lipsticks and pink sponge rollers share drawer space together with daily personal items and soft delicate wash cloths. And under Mom's sink: a standing assortment of body lotions, cans of hair spray, bottles of shampoo, and cleaning products. Everything must be sorted and removed.

Unwanted decisions for me to make.