Memories Of My Mother – 8
October 14, 2012 in Memories Of My Mother
Sunday seems to be a day for crying. I awoke at 8am to a cold house. Yesterday I spent cleaning, and I decided to open all the windows up and air the house out at the same time. I polished the brasses on the front door. I re-arranged things in the kitchen that don’t have to be there any more, because she doesn’t need them within arms’ reach. Cleaning feels like doing something worthwhile. Unfortunately I left a window open in the lounge overnight, and by morning the house was like an ice-box.
Jake is my alarm clock these days. Walking over me to waken me up, usually every morning. He’s very talkative, kitten-like even though I guess he’s about 6 years old. He needs reassurance. Henry slept in a corner of the lounge, the furthest away from the open window, and I feel terrible for it. Jake doesn’t get on too well with Henry, or I’d have them both in bed with me.
So today I woke up slowly to the cold. I started asking the cats how they were, and just started howling in pain, doubled over the kitchen sink. I haven’t cried as hard in days. Today seems to be a crying day. It’s on and off. I can’t bear to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Leaving a window open overnight is a stupid thing to do. I can’t afford to run the heating, so I’m sort of slave to the weather. I’m sitting here writing this wearing my woolly hat.
To make things up to Henry, I sat in the lounge and got him up onto my lap. He promptly fell asleep. I sat and watched two hours of PBS, about Robert Moses and public works in New York, with him out cold on my lap. I was grateful of the warmth.
Another crying bout caught me saying sorry to my mother. Another one? Telling her how much I missed her.
Everything reminds me of her not being here. I’m making sausages for a now late breakfast, and she was always chiding me for not making them crispy enough. In the end she just said it to annoy me and make me laugh, which it did.
When people ask me about her, I have to look away when I talk. Otherwise I’d start crying again.
I miss her so much.