There’s a glass coffee pot in the corner hutch, it was a wedding gift to my grandparents, when I’m gone I want you to have it. I hate these conversations. It isn’t like I am not aware of the fact that one day she will not be there, I just hate it when she decides to start going through her mental check list of who she wants to have what.
When you are gone my heart will be shattered and I will not really care about who gets what. I will sit in your room drawing in your scent while trying to remember how to breath. I will experience a pain that will threaten to tear me apart. I will learn to move forward with the memory of all our days together.
Those words, when I’m gone, mean very different things to us. I know my mom is concerned with leaving behind a very tangible part of herself to those she loves. She has memories she wants us to be able to hold, to touch so that the connection doesn’t feel so hazy and muddled. I know what her intention is. It is the method I have a problem with sometimes.
I think I should start a box for her, the “ when I’m gone “ box. We can drop little stories, jokes, pictures inside. Sort of like a time capsule. It will remind us of exactly who Signy Marie was when we most need to and are most unable to. Perhaps this sounds a tad morbid to some but the thought makes me smile. Knowing that she will choose the memories she wants us to remember her by warms my heart. It will be a final gift and a long distance hug. Yes, this is me trying to take a lemon and make lemoncello.
When I’m gone. The words she needs to say and I hate to hear.
Life with mom ….
My mother myself 