That Day Isn't Today

I believe I've mentioned before that my house is not palatial. Far from it. The house itself is a decent size, but the rooms are small.

Basically, space is at a premium here, probably just like at your house.

I caught a glimpse of my horoscope today, and it reads, “You're not willing to let go of a piece of your past, even if you would be better off without it.”

There's a connection, I promise.

I have my mother's clothes here. All of them.

When she had to leave her assisted living facility to go into the nursing home, I packed up all her clothes and brought them here, with the intention of taking them to her when she got a permanent room with more space. Sadly, she didn't last long enough to move to her permanent room. And here her things sit.

I have other things here, too, from when my mom lived here. I don't think I told you; my mom lived with us for about a year before she went into assisted living.

I can't bring myself to take the clothes away. I can't bring myself to touch the things my mom touched, the things she wore. In my head, I know there is absolutely no connection between what is left in my house and what is left in my heart. Still, it feels wrong to just get rid of everything, like a betrayal of sorts.

I suppose most everyone goes through this when they have the belongings of a loved one who is no longer walking among us. In this instance, misery doesn't really care about company, meaning it doesn't make me feel any better to know I'm not alone. I imagine that once I'm actually able to go through these things and donate things, I will feel somewhat better. It just feels wrong for me to be the one to do it. I know I'll be helping someone by donating these things, which will be a boost for about 5 seconds. Then I'll remember why I'm donating these things. And I'll cry. Again.

Perhaps psychologically, it's like having my mom go into assisted living all over again, or something like that. Another letting go, another good bye, another way I failed. Reliving all of it, from the very beginning to the very end.

I hope one day the hurt will be more of an ache, and I won't be sobbing when I talk about my mom.

That day isn't today.