Packing Up My Mother

I'm in kind of a morbid mood.

Today I packed up my Mom and all the little trinkets on the shelf--the lock of hair I sheared off after the funeral, the crystals she gave me, the little fossil one of Seebs' forum friends sent with their best wishes when she was sick, that sort of thing. This was the hardest part of moving for me, and I was seriously dreading it. Finally I decided this was stupid, and I should pack the hardest stuff first and ignore my conscience's wailing that I should have saved it for last out of respect for the dead.

I don't like to spend too long looking at the box because it still freaks me out to think that there's nothing left of the woman who created me except a box of gray dust that can be packed in a box and put out of sight like some meaningless souvenir. I also worry that when I pick up the box I might think something unworthy, but that's probably an OCD thing.

After I finished wrapping the little Buddhas and crystals, I folded her old monogrammed washcloth around the music box and packed it up along with the photographs and seeds and notes I found lying around her room after she died. So that's done with.

While I was doing all this, I found her box of Tarot cards and shuffled through them to see if she'd added any scraps of paper with sayings written on them (something she really loved doing in life, which made the mundane cleaning portion of dealing with her death a lot easier and harder on my spirit at the same time).

There weren't any notes that I could see, but the Five of Pentacles had been torn right down the middle. Rah said it was a negative card, so I looked it up and found out it signifies ill health, rejection and poverty--the three hardships that defined her life.

I didn't find the other half of the card anywhere in the box. I hope she fucking burned it.

On the bright side, now that I've dealt with Mom, it's out of the way and the rest of the packing should be bland and simple.

To combat my dust allergies, I've moved the air purifier into my room. The difference in air quality is substantial. Just to see what would happen, I sprayed some cinnamon air freshener near the machine. Ten seconds later, the scent was completely gone. I then realized that I haven't even smelled cigarette smoke from Jesse's level of the house since Seebs bought the machine. It's amazing what this thing can do--it even emits white noise, which I find comforting.

Ashes to ashes, allergens to allergens... Story of my life.