I haven’t been able to post anything the last several days. In a week it will be two months since my mother died. I am experiencing the feeling of not having spoken to her in a long time. At first, my mind felt it wasn’t talking to her, but it probably would be talking to her eventually. Now, my mind is gasping for the air of her. Grief I have for her is complicated: not a pure missing, because she was paralyzed at the end, and living had become nothing of what it had been. I guess that’s why I’m posting these photographs of her riding a bicycle, sitting on the beach and standing next to a car. These were all things she couldn’t do the last five years of her life.
There are triggers for the sadness. Reading about Tony Judt and his struggle with ALS is one of them. Getting any kind of good news about my book is another. Doing a reading, as I did on Monday, in the city I used to live, Washington DC, is another. Maybe that was because anything that reminds me of any past life of mine, whether or not it specifically included her, seems to bring her forward out of the din I make to keep my days busy, productive.