I drove out to the garden and paid my admission, walking to what they call the Iris Dell, and what I irreverently refer to as ‘the place we tipped your mortal remains into’. Iris Dell sounds nicer.  

There’s a bench (shaded, mostly owned by mosquitoes and a few brave mice). 

I sat on it and told you about my year.  There is no need. I of all people know that death really does nothing but move physical presence to the space between heart and lungs.  

I did it for me, not for you. When all of the hurt and sadness and anger is gone, when I let that float away because I do not need to hold on to it, I have the best of you, and I miss that.  

So I told you that your best friend sold the house and is moving to a condo, about my MBA and work stuff and how Mr Spit has to have shoulder surgery.  I told you what went well and what I was worried about.  

I read ChurchGoing to you and walked back to the Japanese garden and I rang the bell for you, waiting until it stopped reverberating.  

Happy 69th Birthday mumsy.  

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2 Responses to 69

  1. JustHeather says:

    *bawling* I need to talk to my mom like that. Out loud and with what has been going on in life. Beautiful. I’m sorry for your loss. *hugs*

  2. loribeth says:

    Has it been a year already? (((hugs))) Lovely post. <3

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