| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- mourning the loss of her house I'm sorry but I guess this is just a Grieving My Mother diary now. I know things will get better. I know this inherently--and it's not like life is just bad. Everything else in my life is OK but there's just such a ridiculously huge mom-shaped hole in my world right now. And so many feelings to process and sift through and sometimes ignore. I'm working hard on not wallowing in the I Was a Shitty Daughter end of the pool but it's hard. More than anything I guess, I'm trying to use those Shitty Daughter feelings to push me to be a better person--to be there more for my friends and especially for my brothers. S., the first-born brother (8 years younger than me) has started counseling and I told him I'm so very glad he is and he can also call me anytime. Any time. He does call me a lot now. He used to call mom every single day. Sometimes twice a day. I will never replace her--nor do I want to--I just want him to know our family circle doesn't end with her loss. Largely we are trying to move on with the business side of death. Her estate was largely in order by the time she entered hospice and I can't imagine what dealing with a less organized estate would be like because it is still pretty fucking hard. Right now we're trying to clean out her house to prep for the estate sale. The estate sale people start on Monday and basically take over the house for a week. After that the realtor stages the house and puts it on the market and that's when everything is going to feel even more surreal. The house she lived in for 35 years. The house my brothers basically grew up in, the house I lived in during high school and for a year in college. The house I could drive to blindfolded. Various people keep asking us if one of us wants to buy it or if we want to keep it and rent it out and I keep trying to tell them, politely, that as devastating as this all is, it's brutal returning to that house again and again and while I will mourn its loss, we have to let it go in order to mourn the loss of our mother in whole. It will always be there in my mind, in my memories, in my dreams, but I have to stop looking at it. I need to stop going through her cabinets and drawers. I need to let go of the scent of her perfume in her bedroom because it's all just too overwhelming. There's no easy way to say that, however, so mostly I just smile and mumble something about 'too many memories' and how it 'will always be her house.' A house is just a house until it's not. 8:39 pm - 30.05.19
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