Wednesday my mother gave me artwork and books to remove from her room, the room she formerly shared with my father.
My sister and I grew up with this prayer prominently displayed. I will give the original to my sister to remember our father.
The Arabian horses graced the wall above my father’s desk. I plan to reframe and put them in a place of honor in my home.
Yesterday my mother had me take my father’s clothes home with me. She is moving forward.
Dry-eyed, I hugged my mother, articulating what she could no longer say due to aphasia from her stroke. “I miss him, too, Mom. He loved us all so well. We loved him. We miss him.”
More and more lately I’ve cried, both alone and over the phone with my sister.
We are grieving.