Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Write on Wednesday - Me! Yes, Me!

I sit in my mother's house. It is no longer her home as she died last October. Her home now resides in my heart. I am in my rock chick persona/regalia. Tights, or leggings as you young 'uns call them, with flowers and sequins on the left thigh, black flowing long top with a sequinned skull on front. Chunky jewels, hair up in front. Silver heart earrings which match my chunky silver heart choker. Rock Chick. Old rock chique. Oh, and black ankle boots - I live in boots. Mutton dressed as lamb, some may say. Me all over, others would comment.

The house no longer smells of Mum. I am almost tempted to spray some eau de cologne just to recall her odour, but that wouldn't work as she stopped using it after my childhood was finished. It is a little musty, but not too bad. My desk is in the room of my mother's last bed. She changed bedrooms a couple of years ago when illness and frailty and the threat of death forced her from her comfy, large Queen bed in the front room into a whizz-bang, bells and whistles hospital bed in the second, smaller bedroom. My desk now sits beside this bed, her last place of sleep and rest. My work place.

It is quiet here, it is night. The little dog next door lets off a half-hearted yap, feeling obliged but unable to summon any real energy. I like it here when the village stills. I feel her near. The window is covered with the lace curtains I chose for her, the floor with the carpet we both liked. I built this house for her, when age and failing health forced her to leave her home of fifty two years. But I built this house to echo the home of her love, of family. I built it to be HOME. And home it was for six wonderful years. Six too short years.

This was meant to be about me, but somehow it is also about her. For without her, there is no me, and at times I feel the me left is nothing but a shadow without her. My Mum. Wise Woman, matriach, nurturer, lender of strength.

I am stopping now for the tears have dissolved the screen. I miss her. Some days unbearably so.



Write On Wednesdays



12 comments:

Kimmie said...

Hugs
xxx

Crystal Jigsaw said...

Very touching post. You obviously miss your mum very much and I'm sure she is there, watching over you as you continue to think about her.

CJ xx

InkPaperPen said...

YOU are a writer. Wish I had discovered you and your blog sooner. So pleased you are joining in with Write On Wednesdays

Leanne said...

That's beautiful MM and I can picture it so well ... standing on the outside of the beautiful house you built her, looking in.

Megan Blandford said...

Beautiful. xx

therhythmmethod said...

Such a vivid piece. You are not a rambler at all: you my dear, are a storyteller. How lovely to meet you, and your mum. x

Lene said...

Beautifully written and so evocative. Well Done.

Car said...

Beautiful.

Your mum is obviously a big part of you and that is the part you have just channelled in your writing.

Beautiful.

redfootydragon said...

I agree with therhythmmethod - you definitely have the knack for storytelling. Very powerful writing. And exactly what we were asked for, a piece that tells the reader all about you. You managed to tell us about two people - your lovely mum also :)

Naughty Mumma said...

This is simply beautiful x

roamingal said...

Such a touching post! Very inspiring! Thank you for sharing so deeply and honestly. I miss my mum, but I can still talk to her, and see her on Skype. CYBER HUG xx

Lisa said...

It breaks my heart to even think about being without my mother (although some days she drives me mad!)
This is a beautiful post x