Things That Remind Me of You

It comes out of nowhere. When I least expect it my heart jumps, my stomach lurches and there she is. It all comes flooding back. And I miss her.

Last night as I drove down University Avenue in Toronto and passed Princess Margaret Hospital, it happened. I hadn’t been there since my mom was a patient. That route had been a daily ritual. And selfishly, although she was sick, I would take it back in a heartbeat.

Today I was searching for something. I was in my basement rummaging through heaps of “stuff” when I came across the pile of clothes she always left behind. The pajamas, the t-shirt and sweats that she kept here for just-in-case visits. I picked them up and then I smelled them. And then I put them right back where I had found them.

After my daughter’s eye doctor appointment yesterday I needed her. I ached to pick up the phone and talk to her. What do I do? How do I handle this? My eyes stung and I knew she wasn’t there. And I knew this was only the first time of many, many more.

When I called last week to speak to my dad and it was her. Her familiar voice knocked the breath right out of me. And then the beep.

But no one else seems to notice. I still get demanding emails. I still chat with someone and she never comes up. I even still laugh. And life goes on. Amazingly, it does. Despite the gaping hole in my heart, I manage. The hole, you see, is invisible to others. This I did not know before I had one of my own. Unless I remind people, they forget it is there. They forget my life is upside-down and all kinds of wonky. And mostly that’s OK. Mostly.