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When my mother died, I had an agenda you don’t know you have until someone central to your existence is gone.
This was mine:
• First, empty the most personal of properties, her vanity. Her lipsticks.

You think you have a handle on the grief. The loss. Until you don’t.  And are keeling into the crater hollowed out before you.
A knock. A jostling in an uncaring crowd. And you are falling into that gloaming darkness.
Just like that.

This is a link up to Alphabet Thursday, the letter H:
It should have felt harrowing. Combing through her mother’s cremains.
It didn’t. Because she was as focused as only one can be combing fingers through ash seeking out the tiny bone that hadn’t been pulverized – and finding it....

Two months into a world without my mother. Hard for me to find the words. But these words finally needed to be written:
I lay sprawled across my mother’s dead body.
I wouldn’t let them take her, those stiff men, absurd in their starched suits, waiting in my mother’s weedy gravel driveway, by the black death van, which had been escorted by a pristine white death car…....