Many of you know that my mom lived with Shawn and I. She wasn't in the best health and we didn't want her to be alone, just in case. Since she passed away, I've had the door to her room shut with everything as she left it. I just didn't have the courage to go in and move things out of her space. I knew it was something that had to be done but I kept putting it off. I'm not a brave person.
Now that Shawn and I are moving, I've had to open the door and go in. I did it while Shawn was out, that was a mistake. I went in and looked at how she left everything. I saw her glasses, her Spanish Reader's Digest, her pictures, a receipt from the day before she passed away and the blanket she had knitted for the baby. I lost it. I started crying and asking my mom for forgiveness, for not being able to help her that day and for going into her private space and taking her things out. I remembered the Saturday mornings we would spend there just chatting. I remembered the paramedics hooking her up to all their machines. I still can't believe how much it hurts. Then I screamed until I exhausted myself. (It's a good thing it's winter and all the windows are closed, otherwise I'm sure somebody would've called the police.)
We've since left the door open since we've had people coming to look at the house. I'm able now to look in and walk in without falling apart. It's still going to be hard to go in and clean out her room. But at least I can now look in. And I can think of my mom and smile.