Saturday, June 21, 2008

My garage smells like my mom's house.

Of course, it is no longer my mom's house. Seemingly that house has been sold and I will never step foot in it again. I suppose it doesn't matter that if my father had bothered to tell me that he was selling the house and asked me if there was anything I wanted or needed, that I would have removed the closet door from the living room. Inside of that closet, I stood time and time again with my head against the door. There was a mark and a date for all of my growth achievements. I always imagined that when I was old and my parents no longer lived there for whatever absurd reason (but surely not because Mama had died), I'd take that door, replace it with another one, and make a coffee table from it or something. I'm sure that the people who live there now couldn't care less that I was 5 foot 2 inches in 1989.

So, the Captain picked up what was left of Mama's things today. I prepared myself all day long. Before he got home, I even prepared the kids. I pulled them close and I said, "I want you both to know that I love you so very very much. Daddy is going to be bringing some things into the house that will make mommy sad. I might even cry. I might be sad for the rest of the night. But I want you to know that it's just because I miss my own mommy and not because I'm mad at you guys."

There are a few things missing. Like all of her jewelry that I was promised and a few framed photographs that I would have liked to have had. None of her Christmas things were in the boxes. And her ashes weren't delivered either. I had hoped for so many other things. I suppose I am glad to have any of them.

I didn't cry. Not even when I opened a whole box of her medical bills from when she was dying. I have no idea why he'd send them to me... unless it was out of spite for some reason. I didn't cry when I found the little dress that had been made for her out of a flour sack and I remember so vividly her saying that one day we'd have my daughter's picture made in that dress and she'd frame all three of our picture's in a row. I had panicked because not only was a worried that I'd never get the dress but I also feared that I might not get it until it was too late and the Donut was too big to fit into it.

I put a ceramic bunny on He-man's shelf. I placed a musical ceramic angel figure in the Donut's room. I put the Willow Tree angel of hope in my own bathroom. What few breakable things that were sent, I placed in my china cabinet... even though they didn't really mean anything to me.

Now I'm on a hunt for the perfect frame in which I can put her gorgeous senior photo. She was a beautiful woman at one point in her life. I like to be reminded of that.

In one of the boxes, I found a note dated from after we had learned of her illness. It was a list of prayer requests. On the bottom it said, "Father, please keep me alert enough so that I can continue to pray for everyone." Her faith inspires me and yet makes me a little angry at God. She was so convinced that He was going to cure her. Supposedly. I don't know anything anymore.

6 comments:

  1. aw, it's good that you have her scent to remember her again, even if it is accompanied by deep sorrow. scent is one of the strongest memory triggers. i hope the memories bring you smiles as you reminisce the good times.

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  2. Oh Mandy. That just makes me cry. I'm glad you have the things you do. And maybe one day your dad will realize that being hurtful just isn't good and he'll return to you the things your mom would have liked you to have.

    God is good. Even when it hurts.

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  3. Big hugs Mandy....I'd say more but I don't wanna cry :)

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  4. i am so happy that you have some of her belongings now. i hope it brings you some solace, just to HOLD something that she once touched.

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  5. I am glad you were able to get some of your connections back. Some may be lost, but hopefully you have enough to get you through those tough moments.

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  6. Sorry to say this, but it's honest. My Dad said that he always thought your Dad was weird and kind of a jackass. Guess he feels the same way you do. My Grandpa too. Although both have good things to say about you!

    Sorry...

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