I keep coming across old posts, or drafts of posts perhaps, that I wrote a few years ago, having completely forgotten about them. Did I ever even publish this anywhere? I don't know if I did, and I don't know where it's been all these years. I wrote this on January 11, 2014 - just about four years ago. I remember this feeling, though I don't remember writing this exactly. I remember the feeling because I still feel it. Every time I look at my mugs, I see a few I could get rid of. I don't need so many. Some have more character than others. The ones that don't were from her. I can't get rid of them. I regret everything I ever got rid of from her. Every plant we planted together that died because I couldn't keep it alive. Every time I told her to stop forwarding emails to me, that I'd rather just talk to her. Every time I chose someone or something other than her. Every thing I ever did to let her down or remove a piece of her from my life by selfishness, thoughtlessness or necessity (those mugs).
God, I miss her so much. More now than ever.
this heartrending packing (1.11.14)
It's a mug. It's a simple, cheap coffee mug that has absolutely no personality. I've put it in the donate pile, and it has me torn to pieces with a heavy heart and tears welling in my eyes. How can I let it go? Give it away? Lose a small piece of her, something she gave me a few years ago not because it was special but because I needed some dishes. When I drink out of it, I don't think "this was from mom", but when I try to give it away, I think, "terminal, no hope, chemo, quality of life. I'm so sorry." And I think, "she gave this to you. Remember? You have to keep it forever because after she's gone all you'll have are the things she gave you."
She gave me tenderness. She gave me kindness. She gave me empathy and selflessness and beauty. She gave me her fingers and her smile and her heart. She gave me every good thing that is me. And she gave me her grandma's recipes, too.
Dear Portland, be kind to me. This is an emotional move.