Faces Of Grief
I was surprised to see whose faces they were
It was a cold, wet day when we buried my mother. She died 18 months ago. When you see death coming, you may think you are prepared. I learned quickly I wasn’t. When you know the end is coming for a loved one, grief begins before death. Predicting what will spark that grief is difficult.
My grief began when home as I knew it disappeared. Dismantling a home because of a major life change is a hard process. Dismantling my mother’s home came over a period of time. First, she moved into an assisted living facility, greatly reducing her possessions. My brother, sister, and I took or gave away what she did not take with her, which was just enough for two rooms. Keeping many of her possessions was my way of figuratively preserving her home.
I didn’t realize how difficult clearing out my mother’s house would be. Moving through the house, I found myself touching items I hadn’t touched or thought about in years. Items I grew up using, touching, seeing every day. Some had family history. Others she picked up here or there. Each item had a story. Each item represented my mother and home. In truth, I didn’t want to let any of them go. I found myself keeping items of no real value, but represented my mother in a quintessential way: a dime-store vase with a feather in it, a rolling pin. I fought back tears…
