On my trip, I spent the night at my uncle’s house. I spent a few hours going through boxes of stuff that belonged to my mother, who died three years ago, and my grandfather, who died three months ago. I picked out what I wanted, and set aside what I didn’t want. I took a bag of photographs home with me on the greyhound, and I have a copy of the resume she wrote when she graduated from college. I’m working on my own right now.
Graduation was hard because she was supposed to be there, and it was hard because everyone assumed that my stepmother was my biological mother, and it was hard because the Chaplain gave a graduation speech about death. It was beautifully done, but… painful for me.
I think I’m ready to look through the photographs. I don’t think I want to be alone in the room when I do it… maybe I’ll wait until the cats get here. I’m sure they’ll see me messing around with the pictures and decide to get in the way. They’ll climb in my lap and flop down in front of me, and I’ll grumble about them stepping on the pictures, but it’ll be nice to have the company.
