Dear Mom

I remember when you would make me go upstairs and clean my room. It was early spring and we opened the windows for what seemed to be the first time all year. The house smelled like white linen. You made iced tea, remember? You always made the same brand, but you only made it in the warmer months.

Spring cleaning is what you called it. You made me check my drawers and see which clothes fit and which close we would give away. You had me go through my closet. Not sure if you knew this but my closet was my favorite hiding place. Instead of cleaning my room, I would pile my clothes in a bunch and toss them in the closet. Not during spring cleaning though. You were always there to check on me.

Out with the old and in with the new.

Spring is on its way, which means it’s time to see what fits and what I’ve outgrown. I am deciding what I should keep and what I should give away. This was always an easy thing to do when you were there to help me. But I’ve grown now. These are choices I need to make on my own. Of course, decisions like this are much easier when limited to just clothes in my closet.

I am on a new path now, Mom. I feel scared sometimes. I get worried that things won’t work themselves out. I guess the hardest thing about this is whether things worked out or not, I miss having you around to say things like, “I believe in you, son.”

I don’t like not being able to reach you. I refuse to delete your number from my cell phone. Sometimes, I look at it and press the talk button. The phone rings—but nobody answers. I just get a recording that says, “Leave a message,” in a mechanical voice. I’ve left you a few messages—but, something tells me you’re not getting them where you live now.

It’s hard Mom. This grownup stuff is not much fun sometimes. I work a lot. I pay bills a lot too. I have to make some changes in my life. These changes are a bit different than say, wondering if I should or shouldn’t keep all of my flannel shirts. I started my cleaning this year. Figuratively speaking, that is. I feel the need to open my windows and let in the fresh breeze.

I remember when you used to explain why Pop was always so concerned. His eyebrows folded downward and the creases in his forehead were more pronounced. Life was always so intense. I think about that storm sometimes. You remember the one I mean, right?
It was a summer storm. The heat and humidity was so terribly thick. The Old Man felt the same way. He was too tense, and like the storm, The Old Man just needed something to break so he could give way.

I remember when the rain began to fall. It was only a few drops—at first. Then the rain fell quickly, in large, spattering droplets that fell from the heavens and soaked the Earth. The rain came to solve the tension and The Old Man put on his bathing suit. He went outside with a bottle of shampoo and he showered in the pouring rain.

I guess I need something like this. I need something to come along and break the tension. I need something to come along and solve the madness or calm the heat. Most of all, Mom; I need you to tell me everything is gonna be okay.

I miss you Mom. I hope you’re sleeping well. I hope the pain is gone and there are no more nurses where you are. I hope there are no more doctors, tests, or procedures where you are now. I wouldn’t mind to know if where you live looks like that small cottage you lived in when you when stayed in Vero Beach. I really liked that place. I liked the laziness of the grounds. I liked the green grass and the large willow tree near the pond. I’ve always liked willow trees. I know you like them too.

Anyway Mom, I have to go to bed now. I have to wake up early for work. It seems they want us to begin spring cleaning there as well. Fortunately, they never check the closest like you used to do

Goodnight Mom

I love you


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