Leafing through the hospice papers and other items from my moms things is like sittiing between a doorway…which way do I go, do I keep this stuff, maybe I’ll need it or do I throw it away, why save. There is no posterity’s sake in old bills, a half written page of a list of to dos, but it is her hand writing. I feel like I’m in paper limbo, I haven’t been sent to heaven or hell for that matter, just floating around trying to decide what to do with things that have no earthly meaning any longer unless you look beyond the words into her handwriting. Remembering how she swirled and scripted the letters into a dance of words flowing on the paper. Elementary school taught printing and then later on you moved into cursive and it was artful and informative in words as well as pretty to look at.
Not even a year has passed and people are less caring and seemingly cold when you speak with them about bills that have nothing to do with you. The bad part is it takes you back to a spot you don’t want to go. I’m remembering the shear desperation of time and desire during that space of time. The date on the paper reminds me of my mothers mind slipping away. Of the need for face masks and tubing and my mother is not what she used to be. The old gray mare she ain’t what she used to be………she used to sing that song and we used to laugh. And we aren’t laughing anymore.
This is what these papers do, they complicate and confuse, they give you memories you need, they make you wonder. I just wonder what it would be like to not even have the opportunity to see the swirls dancing across the pages and time is lost because she is gone. The old gray mare she ain’t what she used to be.