Cleaned out mom’s apartment yesterday.
Mom saved 90 years of EVERYTHING. We kept the stuff most precious to us, gave to charity other things and junked the rest. Easy to say “everything is impermanent,” than it is to throw out your mom’s stuff and really feel how impermanent things and people are.
When we were done there was an empty apartment, waiting for someone else to fill it with their own life story, their own things and their own junk.
Not easy at this time to end this note with a self-soothing platitude and say things like “I know mom is with us always.” I mainly feel now that she will never be with us, at least in this world, ever again.
Keep thinking of Dylan Thomas:
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”