It has been 23 days since Mom passed, left us, died.
There is no way to say it that sounds acceptable or normal or kind. She is gone, and her absence is felt. Her big presence lasted all the way to the end.
I miss her.
It has been 15 days since we put Mom in the ground. That was harder for me than being with her when she breathed her last. So much remains to process about funeral weekend, about the past eight months. There is time.
That time is not today.
It’s good to have you here, my husband says to me last Saturday. I don’t notice it is the first weekend I have been around my own house for weeks, but he does.
My presence is missed when I am away.
It’s good to be home.
I look up at a sticker on one of the geometric cork shapes above my home office desk. It is wedged behind a succulent push-pin, carefully held up without peeling off the backing or making a hole in it.
It is the one I offered to my daughter when she asked if I had any stickers she could put on her new laptop. Mom! I gave you that!
She did. She gave it to me at Christmas, and I anchored it up onto my bulletin board, not really believing it and not ready to stick it anywhere.
Today I take it down and peel off the backing, ready to commit. I don’t know exactly what they look like, but I believe.