The snow’s falling outside my window. I can see it swirling and dancing in the lamplight and through it, I can see the Christmas lights across the way. They look so inviting, as if they’re beacons for the tense and weary drivers trying to get home on this wintry night. I’m snug in my house, drinking my mug of tea and finally, for the first time since Mom died, I’m feeling the Christmas spirit. I’m not dreading it this year; I’m looking forward to spending the day with loved ones. We’ll drink a toast to those who are no longer with us and take comfort knowing they’re having the best Christmas ever.
I thought I was getting better. I thought I was getting stronger. I thought I could handle it, but it turns out not as well as I thought. It is finally going through Mom’s clothes. The ones that have been hanging in my closet for the last nineteen months. I thought that I could pack and donate them to someone who could really use warm clothes this time of year. With every piece that I folded and placed in the box, I cried harder. I thought of asking J to help me, but this was something I needed to do by myself, for myself.
Since she died, I hide in there whenever I want to feel close to her. I hold her clothes tight to me, trying to breathe in her comforting scent. I long to sit with her, talk with her, hear her voice one more time. I’m so lonely for her.
I finally got everything packed. Well, almost everything. I couldn’t force myself to part with her favorite sweatshirt, the one she made me launder at night so she could wear it again the next day. That one will remain in my closet until the day comes when someone needs to sort through and donate my things. In the meantime, it’s there waiting for the next time I need to hug her. Love you Mom.