Today we tackled the huge job of cleaning up the garage. I think we have enough stuff in there to open a second Value Village.
One of the jobs I finally got around to was sorting through some of the stuff brought over here at least a year ago after my dad’s things were sorted out. One of the things that came to me were the family treasures that dad kept. Maybe my tendency to collect came from him. He had saved all of the sympathy cards from when my mom passed away and a lot of other things that reminded me so much of both of them.
It’s been 33 years since mom died so suddenly on May 29th. In one notebook Dad kept, he had written down all the details of how he had tried to contact me off in the interior of Zaire. Numbers for contacts at the consulate and the missions office. And my response that I could not come home – my passport was down in the visa office and not accessible to me for travel. There was so much in that box that I had never seen. I sort of wish that it had all been dragged out back 31 years ago when I had come home for the first time since mom’s death. Maybe the mourning would have been more complete. Maybe it never will be entirely. I will never lose the connection I had with her as her daughter. She is for me one of the saints that surrounds me with the whole horde of the faithful who have gone on before.
So, today I mourned a little. Not in some psychologically sick sort of way that refuses to accept the facts of life and death. But there was so much I missed by not being here at her death that creeps up on me in unexpected ways. And so, I weep and I mourn.
Then life goes on.