After being on the market since October, and after several false starts, it appears that my mom’s home is about to be sold (KNOCK WOOD). I’m glad. I’m ready to be done. I’m over paying $700 a month on the space rent. It’s beyond time to move on. I’m thrilled. Really.
But also I’m sad. Really sad. And I did not expect this. I like having that connection to her, being able to go there and sit with her. Carrying her keys in my purse. Being the caretaker of the house. Of her. I like the sense of duty I had when I had goals to accomplish; cleaning the place, holding an estate sale, hiring a realtor. I wasn’t looking forward to paying the monthly rent, but I was looking forward to having a job. It’s easier to grieve, I guess, when you have jobs.
Suddenly I feel a little panicky that I won’t be able to go visit her. I find myself frantically trying to think of all the things I should take pictures of tomorrow so that I can remember them, remember her home. I have to leave the key on the dining room table, but I feel panicky about letting go of it, like that last sweep of a hotel room, sure you’ve left something important in some nook. Only I’m leaving my last connection with my mom. And it hurts.
But here’s the funny thing. The house is set to close on Friday. Friday will mark 11 years since my grandma died. I can’t help but feel this is a gift from her. Or that she’s here comforting me. Or something. As though to confirm that, in the previous paragraph autocorrect changed “connection” to “conniption” – a word my grandma used to use often, a word I cannot hear without hearing it in her voice.
So I guess this is the next step in grieving. Saying goodbye. This is the coffin lowered into the ground. Making what was once tangible, no longer so.
OK, Universe, I’m ready.
Goodbye, Mom. I still miss you.