What a long strange, day. I started with a radio interview, and even with a GPS I got lost trying to find the studio.
Next I went to see my mom's house. From the outside it looked the same, but from the inside - and these people were very gracious to let me come in when they had only moved in the day before - there was nothing that reminded me of her. Even the beds were in the "wrong" positions.
Next I went to the neighborhood cemetery she always loved - we all did. The bench is the one we sat one more times than I can count. She would always leave seed for the blue jays and we would watch them cautiously wait for us to leave before they would eat it.
The grave stone fo
file:///Users/aprilhenry/Dropbox/Camera%20Uploads/2014-04-28%2011.33.22.jpg
r Silas Hawk has been pushed over, but I have long thought of giving that name to a character.
Next I went to Graveyard #2 and laid a poppy on the grave of my old friend Penny, who died of a brain tumor when we were in first grade.
Then I met the Flower Girls for lunch. They had all worked with Mom at one flower shop or another. They said it was good to have a foursome again. Each one missed different things about her - her phone calls or her emails. They not only told stories about her but they acted out her part. In them, I could see her again. Hopefully in me they could see her, too.
After that, it was a trek to the other side of town to see where my mom's and dad's ashes were interred. I was running late and by the time I finally found it, all I could do was stand there and cry on this very blank looking stretch of grass. I choked out "You were good parents."
Then I had to run back to my car in time to make drive to another town to do a newspaper interview. The photographer took a million pictures. Hopefully he used the filter that makes you look younger and not tear-stained or sleep-deprived.
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Next I went to Graveyard #2 and laid a poppy on the grave of my old friend Penny, who died of a brain tumor when we were in first grade.
Then I met the Flower Girls for lunch. They had all worked with Mom at one flower shop or another. They said it was good to have a foursome again. Each one missed different things about her - her phone calls or her emails. They not only told stories about her but they acted out her part. In them, I could see her again. Hopefully in me they could see her, too. After that, it was a trek to the other side of town to see where my mom's and dad's ashes were interred. I was running late and by the time I finally found it, all I could do was stand there and cry on this very blank looking stretch of grass. I choked out "You were good parents."
Then I had to run back to my car in time to make drive to another town to do a newspaper interview. The photographer took a million pictures. Hopefully he used the filter that makes you look younger and not tear-stained or sleep-deprived.
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