Today I unpacked boxes of her things I had sent from her house in Florida, which has been for sale for week or so. Crystal vases from our house in Massapequa. Cookbooks with her notes scribbled in the margins. Serving pieces and bakeware and wine glasses and my bat mitzvah album - these treasured items of hers that had been with her for so many years that now need a new home. I had to scramble to find space for the cake plate and statues - my living room feels more stuffed instead of spacious - but it feels good to have pieces that she used and loved close by for me to hold onto.
I don’t hear her voice the way I used to. I don’t sob so hard I can’t breathe the way I did after she died, although when unpacking photos of me, my sister, and my brother who died a few months ago, I bent over and wailed for a few minutes. The grief mingles with the memories and that’s where I’m floating right now. And it’s ok.
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