Visit to Monroe

This post won't be long because it's late and I have to get up early for a busy start to a busy week tomorrow. But I wanted to write about visiting my brother-in-law, Paul, this weekend. We drove over on Friday, and I must say that it was difficult being there again. I've only been there twice since my sister died; the last time was just for one night when we were moving down here from Michigan, so I think I was so keyed up about the move that being there didn't register much. My sister's house is almost exactly as she left it, and I can see her everywhere I look when I'm there -- quite literally, since Paul still has about 10 pictures of her just in the living room, even more elsewhere. Ann's presence absolutely permeates that house, which is not a bad thing, but it's almost like a sweet torment being there. I feel so close to her being surrounded by all that she loved so much, but the one thing that would make me happiest is lacking.

And it's not just Ann whom I think about while spending time there, but my mother also, of course. Some of her furniture is still there; we sleep in her bed, in fact. I see her not just in that house but in so many of the places around town -- a wholesale music supply company where she once worked, the site of a Sealtest ice-cream shop we used to go to, a store where we'd shopped together many, many times. I miss my mother so much, but the ache inside me for her isn't as keen and sharp as it is for my sister. I'm not sure why but I think part of it is because even though it was devastating to lose my mother, I was prepared for her death somewhat. I knew it was coming at least. This was not at all the case for my sister -- a 49-year-old athletic, slim nonsmoker who'd never had a serious illness in her life. But who nevertheless dropped dead on October 13, 2006, as though she'd been simply shut down like a machine. I am still trying to wrap my head around it. I don't know that I ever truly will.

Peace, Jody