Yet another journal entry on when my mom and dad got sick (the 1990′s) and with their passing, how I dealt with all the pain. As I write this now, I can remember the feelings I had when I wrote this, like it was yesterday.
This is titled, “It’s So Hard”
It was hard when Mom got sick…the medicines,the doctors, the chemotherapy, the tiredness.
It was hard when Mom died…the last day,the funeral, the getting rid of clothes.
It was hard when Dad got sick…the confusion,the forgetting,the oxygen,the pills, the preparing.
It was hard when Dad died…the closure, the silence,the empty house.
It was hard when we had to sell the house where they lived for 30 years…the yard sale,the dividing of goods, the stress.
It was hard having a yard sale to sell all the little things that we thought didn’t matter. We had to choose pieces of Mom and Dad scattered everywhere.
It was hard to close the door to the house for the last time. Their spirits were there and I knew it. I could feel them every time I visited…in plants, in books and music, in sweaters and caps and pieces of furniture.
The coffeepot my dad used everyday. The decorations…everything…gone.
It was hard to leave the house on that last day.
I stood at the doorway and I whispered into the empty air, ” I’ll miss you, Mom and Dad. I love you. Please be with me, not here anymore. Goodbye!”
Then I took one last look and drew in a long breath, then closed and locked the door.
And as I backed my car out of the driveway, I passed Dad’s azaleas, morning glories and lush,green grass.
I knew this would be the last time, so I didn’t dare watch as I drove past the house. Hold the tears back!
Oh, it’s so hard!
Close the door to the past, and press on into the future. I remember the saying, “Bury the dead and live.” It’s so easy to say, but hard to achieve.
I can only hope their spirits are not held prisoner at that house, but with us- their children, and in their belongings we got to keep for memories sake…
In the wicker furniture that was theirs…on my deck.
In their telephone stand… in my hallway.
In their hope chest…in my bedroom…
and in the aging, yellowing pictures in my albums.
They are with us now in spirit and I try to imagine them smiling and watching over us everyday now…
but it’s so hard.
