I finally gathered the courage and strength to return to my mother's bedroom after months of grieving. The room looked just the same and everything was still in place.
The creme and beige lace curtains lined with floral material, made by her, still graced the windows which looked as though they were still in mourning. Her clothes were still hanging in the closet all wrinkle free. Among them were dresses that she never got the chance to wear. I especially noticed those old bed slippers that she loved so much, a gift given to her by one of her sisters when she took her first visit to Canada.
Again, I say, everything was still there, but my mother was missing.
Two of my relatives and I spent hours going through her belongings. Some made me sad, some made me glad, some made me smile, and others made me laugh out real loud.
My mother could be classified as a bookkeeper, a secretary, a librarian and even as a photographer. I found books that her children and grandchildren used from the first to the fifth grades, letters, bills and other paper works dated as far back as in the 1960's. I saw photos and funeral programmes of people I never remembered existed in this life. I could hardly believe it. Some of the black and white photos were hilarious. We really had a good laugh at some of the things we saw. If my mother was there with us, she would have been laughing just the same. We always had a good laugh at anything that was funny.
We put away most of her clothes for charity, but I kept some for myself. I had to, and I will wear them until they fade away, just because they remind me of her, but in a happy way.
This day was a day long to be remembered. My mother, rest in peace.
