You can
take that painting down when I die. Until then, leave it. When I die you can
move those chairs, until then, let them stay. You can clear away that stuff
when I’m dead. Just leave it for now. I don't want to take that trip but you can go when I'm dead. Don’t move these things here. You can
toss them all into the trash when I’m gone.
God
understands so I don’t feel but so bad for the thoughts that sometimes run
through my head. I’m especially mindful though not to say them out loud. But I
cannot make her understand that we are still here, and our choices should not
be dependent on what a dead man once wanted for himself. But celebrating the here
and now is suddenly foreign to her.
When my
father died, she too stopped living. It has taken the patience of Job to keep
her pushing forward with both feet. Most times, I have had to drag her along
kicking and screaming. Change terrifies her and she sees death as the only
answer to her fears. She’d been married to him longer than I’ve been alive, and
his world was all she’d ever known. For sixty-plus years her entire existence had
revolved around him, and now she feels lost with him not here. That makes me so
sad.
I had hoped
she would want more in however long she has left. That she would finally step
out of the shadows and shine. She had once been a vibrant personality. She
could slay dragons, run marathons, and take the world by storm with a simple
dance step or two. That mother had no fear of anything. That mother lived every
day for her next adventure. That mother held tightly to family and friends. People
meant more to her than things. We lost my mother when my father died. That
woman, is the one I miss even more than not having my father here.
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