Last night was the second anniversary of my Mother’s death. As with her death itself, the days leading up to it were filled with a welter of emotions. I feel as if I relived those ten days second by second in some shadow realm where my body stores its’ physical memories. The moment of her passing two years ago, I was stroking her hair, with my hand on her heart. Tender, painful, beautiful, a pure Southern death.
Yesterday, tears spilled over from time to time. Last night, Russ called to tell me he would try to stay awake to send his spiritual self 90 miles north to comfort me, since he could not be there with me. And comfort me he did. Pat did not even call me. So I went home, lay on the floor in the little hallway and sobbed for about 15 minutes (that seems to be the spot for me to do my sobbing), then got up, drank some bubbly water, snuggled in on the couch (highly recommend the fuzzy blankets from Bed Bath and Beyond), and watched The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, which spoke to me in new ways upon this viewing.
In the course of the evening, I spoke with Drew, who told me that Pat has been gambling and hiding winnings, squirrelling household monies away, at least 3 days a week for over 5 years, since Kelsea has been in school. Could this be true? Pat denies it, of course, but what reason would Drew have to lie to me? At any rate, contemplating this final betrayal as I crawled into bed last night, I felt a mixture of sadness, anger, disappointment and that I was at a turning point. Waking this morning, I feel stronger than I have felt in weeks, certain of my course. The iron has perhaps entered my heart and soul – not a good thing, but perhaps needed. I see the road ahead being bumpy, but I am choosing to be thankful for this strength today, even if tomorrow it has faded with today’s sun.