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The way we weave our lives together

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Feb. 9th, 2006 | 03:43 am
mood: thoughtfulthoughtful
music: Title: In My Daughter's Eyes * Artist: Martina Mcbride

I have been cleaning, tonight, trying to get my house to some state of order, as if an orderly home will mean that some small part of my life is in control. And as I looked around my apartment, I found that it is filled with objects and memories of how my life has been interwoven with so many others.

The biggest one, of course, is my mom.

Hanging up scarves, I noticed the mobius scarf she knitted for me hanging on broken closet door on which I've hung several s-hooks for the hanging of scarves and belts and things.

I look around at my furniture and I remember planning the design of my apartment and building everything together. I stumbled across books she gave me to help me learn about and love and accept myself, without being self-help books. I have memorabilia from shows we saw, and art exhibits we went to together. If I wanted to purge all the things that remind me of her, I would have to burn practically everything in my apartment, and then move away.

I have never been attached to a dwelling before, but as I look around and see the work she put into making this apartment a home (because it really mattered to her that I had a home, and not just a place I happened to live), it makes me makes me a bit attached to this particular home.

I am glad for the reminders, though, and glad for the memories. Because my whole house is filled with reminders of love and an incredible and special friendship.

(There are reminders of others as well, people who have woven their lives into mine, and people whose lives I have touched, but those of my mom are more poignant than most).

I wonder when it will really sink in that she's gone. When it will hit me and I'll be simply overcome. (People keep asking me how I am doing, and I don't know what to say. I'm not fine, exactly, but I'm okay. And I'm going to be okay. Just like my mother, who was always right about everything, told me I would be). I suspect that when something really important happens in my life (good or bad, but more probably good), and I want to tell her about it and share it with her, that's when I will hurt most. And the first few times, those hurts will be intense... but I think they will lessen with time. And I will always see in the way my whole world is built how much she loved me.

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