Altogether the feeling of missing my Mother remains sporadic and inconsistent and gut-wrenching. Seeing an item of hers, or a bit of her handwriting, or hearing a song she loved on the PA at a store, or nearly anything can trigger it. Or sometimes, it’s not even triggered. Sometimes the emotion attendant to missing my mother kicks me in the teeth, sometimes it just seems vaguely sad, sometimes it just feels like an error. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘my mother is dead?’–because I’m afraid you’re mistaken, we just ate lunch with her the other day.”
But reality will out, always. That’s hard.
We had my parent’s handyman fix the toilet yesterday. First time seeing him since my Mom passed. He asked me “where’s your Mother’s attitude in you?” He’s a blunt man, but the question is worthwhile. I’ve been down in the mouth and making a habit of it does nobody any good.
So I’ll press on and try and make the change I talked about in November.