Apparently, when your mother dies, you get to inherit her clothing. At least that's what's happening to me. My dad came over yesterday to spend time with my daughter, and he brought me the sweatshirts my mom had from my college - one was emblazed MOM across the front, clearly stating that she had a child that went to that school. She was so happy to have that one, and wore it for years. It's stained, possibly beyond anything my laundry skills can fix, but I know I'll keep it forever.
I now have my mother's clothes, and her coffee creamer in my house. I don't know if I'm supposed to find comfort in either or not. I'm happy my father didn't throw these things out, but I don't know if I'm ready to have her stuff in my house like this. It just makes it more real, more painful. I'm not ready to open my closet and see her clothing sitting there, because she's not here. Just not ready.
Yesterday, my dad said that he wants to get one of those flower vase things that are stuck to the front wall of the mausoleum, that way he can give my mom flowers for her birthday; he always bought her carnations. She would have been eighty this year, and my sister and I were going to throw her a big party. She never had one and said time after time after time....after time...that she wanted one. Easter is the day after her birthday this year, something she always hated because we would have dinner for the holiday not her birthday. Although I may not necessarily miss her bitching about it, there will be something missing because I won't hear anything like "well it's just another year that some religious holiday is more important than my birthday...". Nothing will ever be more important than her birthday now, which is ironic. The day that you celebrate her birth is now more important since she's gone.
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