I'm finally back in Santa Cruz for a few days with Archie, ostensibly to start getting stuff sorted out and donating the excess to goodwill. I couldn't sleep last night, nocturnal as I am and anxious as I always get before heading down here. I managed about 3 hours, maybe 3 and a half tops. Yikes! Many many cups of coffee and one aborted nap later, I feel all wound up inside.
I started sifting through some of my mom's things, just a few surface envelopes and various items that were on top of her bedside table, and I came across about 20 Get Well cards that her coworkers had written to her when she was in the hospital. I started reading them, and I just froze. I mean, what do I do with them? Throw them out? I don't know, there's so much I need to do, and I'll be handling far more emotionally charged issues when I go through, say, family photos, but... I mean, when am I going to be able to face this?
Her room was just closed up and ignored after she died. I couldn't bring myself to do all the cleaning and sorting and and boxing after she died. Today I opened the windows to let some fresh air in and unmade her bed, stopped to sniff a pillow to see if I could pick up some scent of her, but all I got was a nose full of dust. It hurts a lot to have to approach someone's life in this way. Like it's something inconvenient and cluttered that needs to be disassembled and thrown out.
I started sifting through some of my mom's things, just a few surface envelopes and various items that were on top of her bedside table, and I came across about 20 Get Well cards that her coworkers had written to her when she was in the hospital. I started reading them, and I just froze. I mean, what do I do with them? Throw them out? I don't know, there's so much I need to do, and I'll be handling far more emotionally charged issues when I go through, say, family photos, but... I mean, when am I going to be able to face this?
Her room was just closed up and ignored after she died. I couldn't bring myself to do all the cleaning and sorting and and boxing after she died. Today I opened the windows to let some fresh air in and unmade her bed, stopped to sniff a pillow to see if I could pick up some scent of her, but all I got was a nose full of dust. It hurts a lot to have to approach someone's life in this way. Like it's something inconvenient and cluttered that needs to be disassembled and thrown out.
- mood:melancholy
Comments
You are doing a tremendous job. This is a huge step :)
That must be the most difficult thing in the world to be doing right now.
i can only imagine how incredibly difficult and painful this must be.
if you ever need an ear, or a beer, or whatever, feel free to call.
i remember how hard it was to get rid of my dad's stuff, and i didn't even do it, my mom did.
my heart is with you.
d
My mom had to deal with my father's death about 2 years ago, and even though they'd been divorced for over 20 years, she had to see to all of the arrangements. It was all long-distance, all done via fax and phone. It was really hard on her, but she didn't really ever let on. After my mother's death, I found copies e-mail she'd written which touches on her sadness and worries about me and how I would take it. I had a strange sense that she was saving all of this mail for me to find.
Also, and this is surreal, I think she once read me one or two of your poems, which really freaked me out when I read your book. Now that is weird. Had you previously published any of the work in Why Things Burn anywhere?
Um... yes. Some of the poems in Why Things Burn were published prior to the book, in various journals. So it's possible, though it also could have been poems from Pelt, etc.
That is a little weird...
I remember that she read me the poem about Albuquerque, specifically, because that's where Joel used to live. I think she also may have read a few others. She was in a writer's group in Santa Cruz with Claire Braz-Valentine for several years. Her poetry was very funny, and almost always about food.