by Melinda Gallo


Some days I can be doing one of the most mundane of things, like washing the dishes, and there's a tug at my heart. It whispers to me and when I don't pay attention, it begins to yell. Memories of my mom flood my head. Memories of the last time she travelled to visit me when I was living in Florence back in 1998. Three years of memories before she passed come to me in an instant.

I have no way to stop them. No way to tell them to go away or come back when I'm ready. They just come without warning and don't leave until my heart is wrung dry.

I hope someday to only have good memories of my mom, but somehow they are covered up by the last years that I spent with her in California. The memories of her decline. The memories of me holding on to her with both hands and clenched fists.

There are days like today when I don't feel I'll be able to just move on and accept her passing. Days when I don't understand death and hate the fact that people leave us forever.

I will carry this pain of her passing forever, just like the memories I have of her. Some days I don't feel it and other days it's all I feel. This scar is deep inside of me, down to my core, and will probably never completely heal.

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