Death Doesn’t Go with the Décor: Reflection of Grief

After my Mother passed, my sisters and I sorted through her things. We picked from her collections from oldest to youngest, one piece at a time. The items we all wanted would be settled with a fair game of rock, papers, scissors. It was hard enough to get out of bed right now, even harder to divide her entire life belongings. Yet, here we were, in our mother’s house, but she wasn’t home.

I unloaded the boxes out of my trunk when I got home. And there she was, my mother. My mother was now an assortment of collectable and uncollectable items. She laid there in a coffee tin full of marbles and a ceramic smiling panda with a broken hand. If I looked hard enough around my mother’s house I would find that broken panda hand in a jewelry box or stationary kit.

I craved her.

I was addicted to my mother and not a fix was out there. I needed her. I needed her friendly face. I needed the unconditional love with that smile which validated everything was going to be okay. I needed tomato soup and grilled cheese. I needed the scent of Cover Girl make-up and Marlboro Lights mixed and somehow smelling beautiful when it radiated from her clothing. I needed to know that when everything in life goes wrong that at least I had Mom. My security in this world vanished. In exchange for my mother, the world gave me half a box of useless, random junk.

The trade was uneven. I accepted pennies over my $100 bill. The emptiness is unbelievable. It’s odd to feel your heartbeat and know its hollow all at the same time. I believe my mom was sacrificed for some big meaningful purpose. I can’t seem to find the rhyme or reason for it, though. Maybe we have all grown from missing her.

As long as I walk the world like I’ve been cheated, I lose.

Truth is, I wasn’t cheated. I was blessed by God himself. I had the best Mother in the world. I had her for twenty-eight wonderful and confusing years. I am brave. I am strong. I am happy. I won.

I placed the broken ceramic panda on a shelf in my house. It doesn’t go with my décor, but neither does my mother’s death. I love that stupid panda.

 

Written By: Sarah Huffer

3 thoughts on “Death Doesn’t Go with the Décor: Reflection of Grief”

  1. So beautifully expressed! I have a ring that was my mothers – when I wear it I feel her strength but most of all I feel her!

    1. I believe in that. It’s amazing how someone’s energy can be stored in a common item ❤ I have a hundreds that hangs in my closet, that as I rummage looking I still get a glimpse of her in it. It’s my favorite part of not having anything to wear 😂
      The whole time I wrote this article my kitchen door kept popping open. I like to think it was her 😇

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