remember

what I ate for supper, a joke’s punch line, but not the important things: my mom, the love, the good times and bad. I don’t need this goal. I can’t help but remember.

I gave my daughters their cookbooks and they cried and laughed, just as I hoped. I also gave my granbeanie her Nana book and her mom cried as she read it. They really liked the presents and they do and will remember my Mom.

my granbeanie came to play while her mom was singing. At one point we were in Nana’s old room and I was in the rocking chair. I asked her if she wanted to climb in Nana’s chair. She looked at the rattan chair and I could see her remembering my mother sitting in it. She just turned away and said “no” in a small voice.

the good things about living alone. Before Mom moved in I was happy alone. I could do my housework when I wanted – or not. I could eat whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. My SO could come and go as he (and I) pleased. I could go away overnight. I didn’t have to rush home. I could have a phone conversation in peace. I could watch Meet The Press on Sunday morning instead of going to the grocery store. I didn’t have to listen to radio ranters if I was home during the day. My dogs could walk through all the rooms of my house. I didn’t have to explain my purchases to anyone. I could stay up late and sleep late on occasion without someone asking if I was sick.

I need to remember how I did this.

but I think it captures the feeling anyway.

I’m working on is a photo album for my grandchild of her Nana and my little dog, Honey, so she can remember the part they played in her first years. Is this not a beautiful photo?

Today I had to retrieve my computer from my local fix-it guy. I’d been to his house before but not for a while. It’s about two blocks from where my best friend used to live before she retired, moved away and died. I drove past her old house. I found no trace of her.

is not quite 2 but she still talks about “Nana” and “Honey.” Without scareing her I want to talk about them both, to reinforce the memories she has of them.

For Christmas this year my daughters and I decided on homemade gifts only. One of my gifts for Clara will be a story book, which I will write and illustrate, about her Nana and Honey.

I’m torn between dwelling on my memories of Mom and trying to change my home so much that I no longer see her here. I have a friend whose mother died four years ago. Her reaction was to keep everything exactly as her mother had it. She was recently forced to move due to a renovation in her apartment complex. She’s miserable. I, on the other hand, immediately changed Mom’s room, moved her chair out of the living room and rearranged any number of other things.

How does one properly remember?

are my mother’s bed and her bedding. I’m not emotionally attached to this but the stuff is brand new. She just bought a new bedspread and sham and the set I bought her is like new too and was expensive. I keep hearing her voice in my head telling me not to get rid of good stuff. I have to learn to ignore it. I don’t want a twin-size bed and looking at all her throw pillows just makes me sad, so off they go to the sale. Sigh. Sorry, Mom.