In the end, besides a brief moment at the funeral, it was the packing to leave Barrie that did me in. Earlier I was folding my dirty clothes and organizing things and I just broke down sobbing.  Maybe it was because I was packing the stuff I took from Mom’s apartment and it hit me that the only tangible thing I have left of her is some fucking pots and cutlery and it’s just a fucking joke in the end.  My mom is gone forever and all I have left is cookware.

The last picture I have of myself and my mom, just the two of us, is when I was eight years old at my first communion party.  How did I not get a picture with her in 30 years? Why did I not do that? Such a simple thing and I don’t have that.

I never knew I could feel a pain this bad, while feeling numb at the same time. I never knew I could feel so angry at not getting more time with her.

I’m going back to Ottawa tomorrow and she won’t be there to call so I can tell her I got home safe. Yes, I still have my siblings.  I am very lucky to have them.  But it’s not the same.  I miss my mom. I want her back.

And now that I’ve cried myself into a headache I’m going to go.

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