In her fiction, the loss of her mother ripples silently.
I have been really anxious about turning the 'Big 7-0' this week. Getting excited about this milestone has been challenging, to say the least.
We've been living life this past year, grabbing at time whenever we can. Since my mother entered hospice, our lives have become built around daily visits to her. She needs us, our family of five, and she is in the front seat of every activity in our lives.
I should have played her favorite music, opened her scrapbooks and patiently listened as she attempted to say words she couldn't remember. I should have combed her hair again and brought her costume jewelry. I should have stayed longer.
We just need to acknowledge it more openly, which is exactly what heartens me about Disney's new Cinderella.
This story is included in Tricia McCallum's first book of poetry: Nothing Gold Can Stay: A Mother and Father Remembered .
My older sister would take me to the library. She never came out and said we were going; it would just happen.
For me, there is no cemetery. I sit on the stairs facing the bookcase on the landing where my father's ashes are beautifully boxed. Usually, I have a Coke and a couple of French fries in hand. Sometimes, I'll play an old Earth, Wind & Fire CD from my dad's collection, maybe Sammy Davis Jr., or Barry White.
When my mother died, I turned to writing to make sense of it all. I'm hoping I can give solace to others in similar situation with an aging mother or father who for most of their life has been their only parent.
As a psychoanalyst who writes about trauma, I recognize that the death of my mother transports me back into that old, familiar, traumatized state, and I feel, once again, eight years old and bereft.