Memories have been sliding down my cheeks more often these days. In the quiet moments, when the boys talk of their beloved Nana and when I witness my dad’s own tears. I still cannot make ‘sense’ of this new existence without mom. It is completely unbelievably real. The living with ONLY memories is bringing me to my knees. This is neither good nor bad, it just is.

I have the privilege of being on the front line of receiving mom’s things as dad is ready to let them go. First it was food in the cupboard then mom’s cosmetics, then shoes, jackets and now her clothes. I readily take these beautiful things with tears in my eyes. The memories of mom wearing the clothes and seeing things she had purchased to wear this spring that I am living RIGHT NOW is very difficult to comprehend. (Two biking shirts in particular brought tears to my eyes.).

Here is batman (aka CC) pointing to the two boxes of spring clothes I have of mom’s:

Unfolding.

Folding.

Memories.

Laying down.

Sitting in it.

Sitting with.

Memories.

As mom’s clothes sit at one end of our unfinished basement, I have been sorting through our boxes of memories at the other end on my newly painted white shelf. What does one do with old yearbooks, jerseys, trophies… Are my children going to want these things? Do I want my children to be going through them. Perhaps my work now is to make space for them to create their own memories.

Unpacking.

Packing.

Memories.

Letting go.

Giving freedom to it.

Providing space for.

New memories.