It's in the little actions that I feel her void the most. Things I do without thinking when my body is on auto pilot and my mind wanders to her. Washing my kids hair, doing the dishes, making an apple pie. Things my hands have done a hundred times and I imagine her doing these things in the past, washing her kids hair, making me pie, doing the dishes while my grandpa stood next to her drying each one. And then I wonder what she is doing now and the sadness creeps in.
Her apartment is now cleaned out. Completely empty, like it looked a year ago when I moved her in there. All of her furniture has been given away. Her bedroom set I've known my whole life was broken up, night tables to one person, bed frame and dressers to another. Not the way she would have wanted it, but the way it had to be. I requested her cedar trunk and her wooden step stool for the beach house. I don't need these items, but I need to have a tangible object that was hers for when she is gone.
I was concerned about how she would feel about staying in the nursing home for Thanksgiving, but it seems my concerns were unnecessary. She hasn't mentioned it. I haven't seen her in over two weeks because I've been sick, but my mom keeps me posted on her daily moods and how she's feeling. She seems to vacillate between cranky, tired, disinterested, childlike and sad. I will be up to see her next weekend and I'm looking forward to it. I'm acutely aware that each time I go could be the last time she recognizes me, so I'm going to try and make the most out of each visit.
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