Hiding in books helps her avoid the past

I finally sorted and put away much of the paperwork I brought home from Mom’s last year. All of the death notices and funeral mementos went into a manila envelope. They contain information that a future genealogist might find interesting. Wedding invitations filled another manila envelope for the same reason.

School records, baptismal certificates and more were sorted and saved. A few things were tossed away but only because they were duplicates. All that is left is a pile of pictures, a tie that says, “Norman Garner,” in elegant script printed sideways and Norman’s high school letter from when he played football. I need to send the last two items to his son, my cousin Norman Junior, or little Norman, as we knew him.

He goes by Norm now. As far as I know, he lives in Louisiana and trains police dogs for a living. We haven’t seen each other in decades. I understand he is quite successful in his chosen profession.

All the sorting through the past has taken its toll. In a few short days it will have been a year since Mom died. I keep thinking, “Last year at this time, Mom went into the hospital. Last year they told us she was dying. Last year was the last time she woke up. Last year she died. Last year …”

In an effort to avoid the past, I have been hiding in books. When I read, the world goes away. The first book I chose was a novella by a favorite author. A novella is slightly longer than a short story. It was a tear-jerker and I gave in to the tears that flowed, not only for the character but for life and loss in general.

The second book was better. It was longer and not as sad. It was a much better place to hide from reality. These books were followed by newspapers and magazines. I am currently reading recipes and planning to make something but I’m not sure what.

Last year at this time the only things I had to read were the leaflets in my mom’s hospital room. Later in the week I went through boxes and boxes of her old utility bills and pay stubs. In every box there was one or two things that needed to be saved. The rest went to the landfill.

I think about this when I am saving stuff. I wonder if most of what I deem important will end up in the landfill someday. I think it will.

The return of lower temperatures and the absence of any color in the sky has added to my blue mood. I am sure that later this week that pessimist of a rodent known as Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow and declare four more years of winter. Wait, I mean six more weeks. It only feels like years.

In spite of all the gloominess in my soul, the paperwhites in the house are still blooming. The amaryllis has two flower stalks reaching for the ceiling. The outside bulbs are peeking up through the muddy soil. The evil squirrels still scurry up and down the trees before digging holes all over the yard. The resident hawk still patrols the spruce trees. Plant catalogs still sing their siren songs.

I am left with memories of laughing with my mom. I know that never again will she call me in January asking if my tulips are blooming. My consolation is that she is at peace. No more pain, no more fear. I have an excuse to contact an out-of-touch cousin. Plus I can see my table once again. Next week will be better.