Sewing has kept me sane lately, or at least out of trouble. I’m currently hand-quilting a comforter, as well as playing around with scraps in an improvisational manner. Seen a fair amount of my grandgirls, and of course there’s baseball. The SF Giants just lost another series to the Oakland A’s, le sigh. But the longer drawn breath, let out ever so slowly, is released as I can no longer chat about these games with Mom.
Plenty of those moments have arisen, some easier to push aside than others. I can’t seem to stop watching the Giants, not for as bad as they seem to want to start the second half of the season, ahem, nor for what they signified to my mother. My mother…. Another deep sigh is taken for how she slipped out of view, that a month has passed since she died, for so many thoughts, too damn many to be honest. The last few nights I’ve gone to bed, but not right to sleep, considerations popping like bubbles inside my brain as closed eyelids attempt to send me into dreamland. Then I wake and it’s time to get my husband’s bag packed, make coffee, eat breakfast, drink coffee, and today write a little something. While sewing has been a godsend, writing anything beyond a grocery list seems impossible. I’ve read over maybe two chapters of the recently published section of The Hawk, should really get to grips with Part Thirteen, but it seems so hard. And wondering when I might write again feels….
It feels like some other life. Mom sewed, I sew. Mom read books, and I’ve done that, stumbling through one of my old drafts just to kill time. That was last week, Friday I think. The days kind of run together, one patchwork square at a time.
I’ve been admonished to take each day as it comes, or each moment, whatever I can manage. I do, it’s not like I have a laundry list of chores other than the laundry, ha ha. And good things are waiting on the horizon, a family holiday in the Midwest right around the corner with a special event attached about which I’ll expound upon one of these mornings. Still, losing Mom has been so effing different to when Dad died, I can’t begin to compare them. Maybe I shouldn’t, for they weren’t the same person, the situations wholly opposite. But they were my parents and I lump them together, especially now that they truly are together, lol. They are back at each other’s side so far away from me and everyone else who loved them. And even though I know I’ll be with them again one of these days, it’s an absolute bitca to be separated.
I’m fifty-two years old, but sometimes I feel as young as Miss Em, who has learned to crawl, added two more teeth to her growing collection, and is a superb snuggler. God knows I need all the cuddles afforded me.