She's not coming home...
My sister and I have been going to my Mother's apartment since her passing for obvious reasons. The first time we went, I was a ball of anxiety. My chest tightened even at the thought of walking through her front door. I was terrified about what it would look like; the condition of the place; the smell; what we would discover; the skeletons in her closet, literally. When we arrived, the door swung open and a sense of relief came over me. My shoulders relaxed. The anxiety lifted from seeing how she was living, as I always remember her being, cute and clean. It smelled like Mom. It looked bright like her smile and that made me smile. Then, I was swarmed with grief and guilt. This was the first time I was welcomed into her apartment... by a dude who worked at the front office of her apartment building. I wasn't let in by my Mother's excited face, knowing her daughters were visiting her. The first time I was stepping foot in her home was because she had passed away. We were the
