Thursday meditations

When Pan died, just being at home was painful. Everywhere I looked, everything I looked at ... reminders of him at every turn. The perch by the window where he spent so much time, especially near the end; the back of the couch where he liked to snuggle near me; the soft robe he adored kneading. I would get teary when I climbed into bed at night and he wasn't there to snuggle in, when I showered without him waiting impatiently for his water world, when I came home and automatically started to look for him. Being in the location we once shared hit that sore spot over and over.

The situation is strangely opposite now that my dad has died. My recent memories of him, over say the last 10-12 years, are mainly in Florida. He had been to my condo, but it's not his location to me. Being home doesn't, in and of itself, trigger pain and painful memories.

What's triggered it so far, oddly enough, is the word "parents". I have to start saying "my mother" instead.

"My mother lives in Florida."
Or "I'm going to visit my mother."

Not that I'm erasing him, or the word "parents" altogether; but it has to go to the past.

"My parents moved to Florida in 1996."
"My parents met in Trinidad."

Past.
Passed.
Words.

Tomorrow will be better. No matter how arbitrary is actually is, it will be somewhat comforting to put April behind me, to be able to say, "last month". (Plus, hockey is one of my drugs, and Game 1 of Round 2 is tomorrow.)

Sunday will be better. Done with the worst of the "this time last week" thoughts.

May 11th will be better. Back to Florida. Hug my mom. Better.