A smell wafting on my way to work, a quilt innocuously lying on the bed, a faded maxi dress, a toothless comb lying in a corner…the markers are endless.
Mom may be gone but she it’s as if as her ashes were scattered she became a part of everything around me. Now she is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
And in the silence of the night I find myself seeking those markers so that I can feel myself cocooned from the harshness of the outside world, even if for a fleeting moment. It’s amazing how despite whatever you accumulate over the years how little you take away with you when the final call comes.
And even though I seek her in her belongings (initially I used to curl up with her pillow which still had her coconutty smell), I am angry at her for not haunting me, for disappearing so totally from my life, for not reaching out to me except in rare dreams. But that was how mom was, a lover of pragmatism and yet a believer of spirits. And knowing her, she is probably trying to stress a point even now from the beyond.