Thank you so much to Linda for her vulnerability and candour. This post, I am sure everyone will agree, is simply a stunning depiction of grief. I think gently, and with purpose, Linda depicts her emotions beautifully. It is with a heavy heart that I say this was a wonderful read. Sending a big hug to you Linda.
No matter how far I get from the place where she sanded down the floors, painted the walls and made memories with me, she will always be somewhere. I can hear her in my head saying “you can’t get rid of me that easily, Evee!”
Yet when it is me, in my dark moments I tell myself not to reach out. Who would want to hear it? I will lower someone’s mood. I will make people worry. I will stress someone out.
Now is the season, the time of the year towards the end of January and the beginning of February, that I get catapulted from a time of bith celebrations, into the furnace of grief – to go back through the smithing process again, for refinement.
There’s a small scar above my left eye, a keepsake from the time my sister and I tried to dig our way to China. I don’t remember the exact thought process that led to this bold venture, but since I was 5 and she was 13, I’m sure our reasoning was perfectly sound. I’m also sure that living in southeastern Idaho played a role in the decision because 1) We had nothing else going on, and 2) Local authorities hadn’t yet enacted any laws against minors procuring gardening shovels, ladders, and gas lanterns, and 3) There were plenty of other kids around who were eager to help (probably because we promised them fields of free fortune cookies upon job completion).
She’s tidying up now, preparing to leave. I don’t know if I should stop her. Or warn her. But there’s nothing to be done. Things will play out as they always have, for everything happens for a reason, they will say.
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The very first photo is my lovely mum in a blue ballgown, taken on the 14th of September, 2013. I would have been 13. The royal blue of Mum’s dress brightens and flaunts her clear blue eyes. A faint, hesitant smile has only aged 7 years with fondness and love. Her hair is short, and slightly messy. I love it, but I can imagine mum brushing her fingers through it only moments beforehand.