Mercurial

Monday was the second month since my mother's death. I have resisted the urge to write about it, because, well, I do not want to sound whiny. And other excuses.
At any rate, I have been thinking about her a lot. Asking her things, her advice about car maintenance - My father doesn't drive, so driver's ed. was up to her – listening to her insistence on taking a job teaching, her occasional remark about kids and the like.
I would be mentally preparing the subjects that I am going to talk about when I call her – and then I would remember that I can not do that anymore.
Speaking with Frank about his job interview, I can not but remember her suggesting what he's going to do.
I do miss her. Sometimes the sadness cries and circles above my head, trying to come down – yet it doesn't happen. Sometimes it is only a background memory, a noise that interrupts my thinking and messes up my concentration.
I spoke with my father today, an he is still coping with a pain I cannot measure: “She died 62 days ago” he said. He is counting the days, man, he is living through that as if every day that passed meant another mountain, his voice not being all that clear anymore. I want to hear more but the communication breaks and we are both so tired and sad that it is difficult to maintain a coherent conversation.
February eighth was their anniversary.
My brother, the one still in Colombia, is silent about the whole deal. He has always been quiet about emotions, much more than me, the transparent one, but now it is almost worrisome.
It is difficult to accept her departure, because there is so much to tell her still!
I would have argued and done whatever it is that I wanted, but I enjoyed her conversation, now I realize. I had plans to show her where I worked, debate plans for university and the various merits of staying in this town, introduce her to my friends, getting to talk about nothing that we had not – could not in these last three years.
My mother – she is much better now, I believe, yet her absence hurts.