They’re gone. She smiled and waved a tired, last good-bye. Finally, she had the house to herself. Finally. A week with family. A week of preparation, visiting, anxiety and tears. Now it was over. The house was quiet.
She thought she would make herself a cup of tea. Not that she really wanted one, but it was always a good way to occupy her hands while she organized her thoughts and her to-do list. She could tidy the kitchen while the kettle boiled. Cover the casserole and put it in the fridge. Wrap up the ham and tuck it in beside. Oh – the squares – quite a variety. What would she do with all this food? People were so kind. Her fridge was full.
Maybe she should leave the kitchen for now and straighten the family room. Looks like the grandkids rolled up all the sleeping bags and returned the pillows to the sofas. It had been nice – the company. The cousins enjoyed one another’s’ company. They didn’t get together often. And she had been comforted by their quiet night time breathing and snoring, when she herself couldn’t settle.
She wondered if the kettle had boiled yet. Maybe, she should start a load of laundry. The laundry would be less now. Leave it for later. She paused by the coffee table. Pictures – her son had been looking through the albums and had made a slide show. He insisted on calling it a celebration. She and her children had sat up late choosing pictures, sharing memories, laughing and crying. Before he left, he told her he would make everyone a CD. Something to help them remember.
How could she forget? All those events could have happened yesterday. She felt no different today than she did in those old snaps. She was always surprised to see an image of her mother looking back at her from the mirror.
Was she hungry? Maybe she needed something sweet with her tea, to perk her up. Or maybe she should just sit down. Forget the tea and cookies. It was too much. So she sat, in the rocker and the cat hopped up on her lap. She thought, it’s you and me now, Boots. But, I’m not who you’re looking for though, am I? This was her husband’s rocking chair and Boots was really his cat. He would tap his fingers and Boots would chase them. She would have to do it now.
Married over 50 years. Raised their family, passed the farm on to one son, grandchildren to celebrate and spoil. Now what? She had celebrated her husband’s life today. She hadn’t wept. She had been pleased that so many from the community had come to pay their respects. She was also exhausted, tired and alone. What would she do without him tomorrow? She had repeatedly said that the last 50 years had passed like “the blink of an eye.” If that were true, why did just contemplating tomorrow, feel like an endless eternity?
In memory of Bud Willows, Dec. 25, 1926 - Jan.1, 2010.
SONNET
11 years ago
5 comments:
Oh what a great piece Glenda. The feeling of not knowing what to do but thinking that you have to do everything right now. I remember the exact feeling when my Mom passed away. Beautifully written.
You were right Mum - made me cry
The piece was perfectly written, and truly captured my worst nightmare. I can not fathom being without my better half, and this only after 8 years of being together...what would I do if after 50 years I find myself alone again. A terrifying thought. A difficult topic to write about, but beautifully executed Gwenda!
Oh, Gwenda-- what a marvelous, wonderfully-wrought, and compelling piece. This is such strong writing-- I was pulled through from moment to moment. You showed, rather than told-- you got into the mind of the widow and you made the ordinary events of the aftermath of a death extraordinary. (What's more, you honoured a life). This is an exemplary piece of writing. Thank you for this.
What a piece. I cried when I lost my grandmother but at the same time I felt she was at ease because of the suffering she endured in her last six months. It is always hard to let go, at least we have their memories. Thank you
Post a Comment