Midnight. I walk downstairs into the dark bedroom, not turning on the light. I walk straight into the closet, slightly to the right, where I know they are. I find them, 15 sweaters, blouses, and jackets. I moved them down here when Dad and I went through Mom’s clothes. My sisters said they wanted me to keep some clothes so they could wear them when they were visiting. I picked a good representation of Mom - her blue Appleseed sweater, aqua jogging suit, pink Christmas sweater. Things I remembered her wearing. I put my left hand on the left end of the sweaters, my right hand on the right end, and pushed them all gently together, then laid my cheek against them, breathing deeply. “Oh, Mom” I whisper, and just lean into the sweaters, hugging them. I will my nose to smell Mom, but I have no sense of smell, and my psychic sense of smell isn’t kicking in. I feel the familiar hot tears start behind my eyes, but I just wait until I feel a tear fall out of my left eye and onto one of the sweaters. “Good,” I think, “now a part of me will be a part of Mom forever.”
I wonder if any of this is weird, I wonder if I look stupid, I wonder if I would scare my son if he were to walk downstairs and find me like that. But I really don’t wonder that much - I just stand there as long I want - maybe 5 minutes, thinking of Mom, missing Mom. I dream a dream that night - I see Mom coming toward me in a wheelchair. I say, “MOM!” and run to her, and touch her hair, her cheeks, her shoulders, her arms. Over and over. Just touching her. She lets me, but I know she feels badly for me. I feel badly for me. It’s a very sad dream. I don’t think it’s a good dream. I think I dreamed it because I hugged her clothes. I should maybe not do that anymore. It’s almost been two years - I thought I was better. I thought I was beyond this kind of stuff. I guess not.