Avoidance. That’s what I thought when I saw the prompt. Write about anything that comes and don’t edit. I’ve fallen behind on my posts. And whether I say it’s too busy or life got away from me or whatever it is, I know what it really is. Avoidance. I have to write the third part of the post about my mother dyig and I don’t want to. Or rather i want to but I don’t. Don’t want to go into the pain or the remembering or the letting my mother die because she said she was ready or writing about death. It look me damn near a year to recover. no more than a year. obviously, ten years later, I’m still there. Not recovered. I also know that “one never gets over a parent’s death.” Okay fine. But the point is, I’ve quit crying and grieving. My life’s pretty good. I’m happy. I like writing with a sense of humor and it’s hard to write about my mother dying with a sense of humor. Maybe that’s the task. To somehow write this with a sense of humor? not. So what then. Wait more? I don’t even know if the last of the three posts will fit into three posts. There’s the going back to Wymore, seeing my mother having a mini-stroke, seeing waiting watching as she took last breaths, cleaning up the room, oh, that was days later, after the dying and the cororner and the waiting and the calling. Well. Maybe not much later. I packed up all her stuff into boxes and brought it home with me. Said boxes, ten years later, as still in my basement under and pile of other boxes. And if I open it. Or if i even find it, it will still smell like her. No doubt. So then what? What do i do with a pair of blue stretch pants? or a white sweatshirt with flowers on it. What do i do with more stuff? That’s part of the avoidance. I guess I could give myself permission not to go down there and sort through all the boxes. my kids photographs are down there somewhere too and that leads me to wondering if all the baby photos are now covered with mold. I don’t Even want to find that. More avoidance. Cleaning out the cashes boxes along with teaching classes and bulding a memoir and oh, yes, a poetry book that I just decided what it could look like with my photos and poems….whew. Thankfully, i’ve passed 400 words. I could have stopped a sentence sooner. And not had to whine.



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