Went through my mum’s storage again with my husband today. The last of the many boxes that had to be sorted through. A mailbox, license plates, wrapping paper, broken glass, kitchen utensils and on and on. I came across a notebook and what I read broke my heart. She was writing to God: “I am black and oppressed…..I am so far from my dreams, if I were white….I pray for strength to go on…..at my age, this is reality.” I cried. But I had to stop and get the job done. It was just written down among pages of random notes, phone numbers. I had to go through boxes and boxes of old junk, trying to sort through everything and put stuff aside to be taken away by a junk truck. I put it aside. I did not keep the page. Too painful. There were other pages written here and there like that, all writing to God for strength, for a friend, in pain, betrayed.
There was also a box full of music sheets, her handwriting on white paper as she was memorizing songs. I even stumbled across one songsheet of His Eyes on the Sparrow – which we had performed at her funeral. I just couldn’t put it off to the junk side. I just couldn’t, so we packed it in a suitcase and brought it home.
It was tough. Some stuff pertained to my younger sister so I immediately boxed it and mailed it to her. At the 7-11 where the post office is, I broke down and bought 2 licorice sticks. I’ve been trying to stay away from candy lately. But I had to wait til some woman had her boxes taped up. Thanks post office for being in a freaking 7-11.
Grief. Anger. Candy. Naturally.