a boyfriend

 My mother is looking for a boyfriend. She lives in a warped sense of time in her mind, one of being a young girl, one of a marrigeable age. You must understand, she is eighteen years old and men are asking her to marry them.

This bothered me greatly when Daddy was still living. It would have broken his heart, even though he knew "deep down" she was not her normal self.

 It should be easier to bear, since after all, she is now a widow. But I  find myself so disconcerted in my soul. Yet another area of reversal, she is the child while I am the adult.

expressions

Once upon a time there was a pile of notes to write, thanking those who have expressed such wonderful expressions of love to me and my family at the death of our father.

The pile has shrunk, dwindling to one here and there. I hope I do not forget anyone because no act was too small and I want the giver to know it full well.

nametags ignored

Keeping my mother clothed is a challenge. The facility where she lives is in charge of her laundry. We write her name on every single item, still there are quite a few things that turn up missing.

 Who is wearing my mother's clothes?

Grieving

There are no set rules for grieving. But I am equally convinced, just like snowflakes and dying, everyone has their own unique participation in grieving.

Yet there are similarities too: Empty rooms, possessions to dispose of, aching.

I find myself wishing I would have had at least one more day with him.

a place for mother

Meeting with the staff where my mother presently resides.

Finding a place for mother. It would be nice to say a perfect place, yet I know there is no perfect place. But we can hope to find the best residence for her of all that is available. She is presently in her second home since moving here near me. This time it is a skilled care nursing facility which seems to fit her better for now.  She suffered a huge fall three weeks ago and is still recuperating. The phone rings and we answer trepidly when we spot the name of the nursing home on our caller ID.

Mourning

One day before my father's eighty-fifth birthday, we laid his body to rest in the state of his birth. It was a bright sunny day with mild temperatures.

We lingered, greeting and hugging those who were there to honor my father.