The call came in sometime in the afternoon from my aunt. My mother was in the hospital and was dying. She had been hit by a trolley (train, bus, subway- the story changes, including whether she jumped in front of it)and was not expected to survive. I booked a flight to Philadelphia for the next day.
The last time I had seen her had been three years before, for an afternoon with my grandparents. I introduced her to her granddaughter, who was two at the time. She was sweet and somewhat remote and floaty- not really connecting around what had come to pass between us. It was weird. I am introducing my daughter- this little being who means everything to me, to my mother who had abandoned me.
My sister and I had been taken away by my father when I was 8 and my sister was 7. On that day, she had been gone for several weeks. My grandparents contacted my father, who came to take us for the weekend. We didn’t see anyone on that side of the family for another 8 years. There was a close call when my sister and I were picked up from school by our new stepmother with all of our belongings in a black garbage bag. Apparently mom was looking for us. We never saw the house on the Connecticut coast again. Stage setting- sparse. Really too much at this time of the evening, apologies to the reader.
I arrive in Philadelphia and my aunt, who meets me at the airport, tells me my mother died while I was en-route. THere were arrangements to be made. There were family to connect with whom I haven’t seen in years. There was a service in a church basement with no one who knew me. And I was handed a box of ashes.
I’ve carried the ashes with me. Several years ago, I divided the burden. I ordered these lovely little handmade urns from Etsy (not kidding) and shared her ashes with my sister, who is like my mother and dying, and my mother’s sisters- one who has since passed. Today she rests on my mantelpiece, next to a picture of her as a child with my grandfather. Sometimes I get mad at her, and I put her on a shelf in the garage. Then I’ll clean the garage and see the little urn and tell her a little bit about what’s been happening in my life. And I bring her back in, and place her on the mantel again.
— Cristine
The last time I had seen her had been three years before, for an afternoon with my grandparents. I introduced her to her granddaughter, who was two at the time. She was sweet and somewhat remote and floaty- not really connecting around what had come to pass between us. It was weird. I am introducing my daughter- this little being who means everything to me, to my mother who had abandoned me.
My sister and I had been taken away by my father when I was 8 and my sister was 7. On that day, she had been gone for several weeks. My grandparents contacted my father, who came to take us for the weekend. We didn’t see anyone on that side of the family for another 8 years. There was a close call when my sister and I were picked up from school by our new stepmother with all of our belongings in a black garbage bag. Apparently mom was looking for us. We never saw the house on the Connecticut coast again. Stage setting- sparse. Really too much at this time of the evening, apologies to the reader.
I arrive in Philadelphia and my aunt, who meets me at the airport, tells me my mother died while I was en-route. THere were arrangements to be made. There were family to connect with whom I haven’t seen in years. There was a service in a church basement with no one who knew me. And I was handed a box of ashes.
I’ve carried the ashes with me. Several years ago, I divided the burden. I ordered these lovely little handmade urns from Etsy (not kidding) and shared her ashes with my sister, who is like my mother and dying, and my mother’s sisters- one who has since passed. Today she rests on my mantelpiece, next to a picture of her as a child with my grandfather. Sometimes I get mad at her, and I put her on a shelf in the garage. Then I’ll clean the garage and see the little urn and tell her a little bit about what’s been happening in my life. And I bring her back in, and place her on the mantel again.
— Cristine
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