Amazing post from Running on Sober dealing with a journey back home:
Most of the sticky notes are phone numbers. Doctors? Clients? Friends? I want to call each number to see who answers. “Did you know my mother? What did you talk about? Did she seem happy? Please, tell me. I am trying not to forget her.”
My mother’s purse has not moved in three years, seven months. It sits on her desk, beside her computer monitor. A spider web forms a bridge between the purse and screen.
Insurance forms, business cards for hospice workers, and hospital bills are strewn haphazardly across her desk’s surface.
Books on real estate management and lung cancer and knitting, a Bible too, all layered in dust. Words abandoned, no longer helpful or needed.
Frog figurines she collected over her last twenty years are lined up on a desk shelf. They too enshrined in dust. Someone once told Mom that frog stood for “fully rely on God.” I didn’t think she was religious, but she seemed to like that idea. I wonder if that’s why she kept collecting them.
Greeting cards are stacked next to receipts and sticky notes and peppermints and nicotine lozenges. I recognize several of them, including one I sent after a girls’ vacation to the Grand…
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