By now I should know the memories will always be there, laying in wait for those unguarded moments in my mind. Tonight it happened while I was unloading the dishwasher. Such a simple act - who knew that it could bring back such powerful, painful memories?
I think it was her dishes that took my mind to that place. I kept two of her serving bowls. One is hand-blown glass with a tinge of blue/green color. The other is white ceramic. It has a small chip on the edge. I use it anyway. Last night I had a small get together at my house and used the glass bowl. Tonight, as I unloaded it from the dishwasher and put it away, my mind suddenly went back to the day nine years ago when we cleaned out my sister Julie's apartment after her death. It's odd what I remember from that day. The details are few, but vivid.
I loved Julie's last apartment. She always created such cozy, eclectic, classy homes for herself regardless of the space she was living in. The apartment she died in was no different. I spent many happy, content hours there with her in the last 18 months of her life. I remember being so afraid to go inside it after her death. I had no idea what to expect, and I didn't want to taint the memories of the happy times I'd had there with her.
Tonight my mind didn't care about the happy memories. Suddenly I had one persistent thought, a question I can't answer for myself. Were there dishes in her dishwasher that day? Were they clean or dirty? I don't remember. Why can't I remember? It seems important, like a clue to her possible state of mind. How much of what occurred that night was pre-meditated? Did she make sure there were no dirty dishes for us to deal with? If there were dirty dishes, did we run the dishwasher? I have no idea. It doesn't matter anyway. Yet, still my mind seeks an answer.
Whenever I entered Julie's apartment it felt like arriving home. One of the first things I'd do whenever I visited her was look at the mementos displayed on her fridge. On it were notes, quotes, cards and other things that encapsulated her personality and her latest connections with loved ones and friends. There were always several funny magnets, holding in place the latest drawings and notes made for her by her nieces and nephews. One of her magnets is now on my fridge. On her stove she kept a set of green milk glass salt and pepper shakers that I envied. More than once she whipped up scrambled eggs with toast for my breakfast, seasoned perfectly using those shakers.
Her serving bowls, salt and pepper shakers, a refrigerator magnet, and Kitchen Aid mixer all reside in my kitchen now. Most of the time they serve as touchstones to me, reminders of my sister and happy times spent together in her home. Other times, like tonight, they are painful reminders of my loss. They're powerful triggers for traumatic memories of a horrible Memorial Day weekend nine years ago. It was a weekend that changed me forever.
I've mostly healed from the trauma from all I experienced during that time. Mostly. I've come a long way in nine years, but my journey of grief and healing continues. Whether or not my sister left dirty dishes in her dishwasher doesn't matter. There are no answers there, no insight into her state of mind the night she died. I know this intellectually, yet my mind still seeks the answer. It tells me that my mind is still unsettled about her death. I want acceptance. I want peace. Tonight, my subconscious mind reminded me that there is still work for me to do.
I loved Julie's last apartment. She always created such cozy, eclectic, classy homes for herself regardless of the space she was living in. The apartment she died in was no different. I spent many happy, content hours there with her in the last 18 months of her life. I remember being so afraid to go inside it after her death. I had no idea what to expect, and I didn't want to taint the memories of the happy times I'd had there with her.
Tonight my mind didn't care about the happy memories. Suddenly I had one persistent thought, a question I can't answer for myself. Were there dishes in her dishwasher that day? Were they clean or dirty? I don't remember. Why can't I remember? It seems important, like a clue to her possible state of mind. How much of what occurred that night was pre-meditated? Did she make sure there were no dirty dishes for us to deal with? If there were dirty dishes, did we run the dishwasher? I have no idea. It doesn't matter anyway. Yet, still my mind seeks an answer.
Whenever I entered Julie's apartment it felt like arriving home. One of the first things I'd do whenever I visited her was look at the mementos displayed on her fridge. On it were notes, quotes, cards and other things that encapsulated her personality and her latest connections with loved ones and friends. There were always several funny magnets, holding in place the latest drawings and notes made for her by her nieces and nephews. One of her magnets is now on my fridge. On her stove she kept a set of green milk glass salt and pepper shakers that I envied. More than once she whipped up scrambled eggs with toast for my breakfast, seasoned perfectly using those shakers.
I've mostly healed from the trauma from all I experienced during that time. Mostly. I've come a long way in nine years, but my journey of grief and healing continues. Whether or not my sister left dirty dishes in her dishwasher doesn't matter. There are no answers there, no insight into her state of mind the night she died. I know this intellectually, yet my mind still seeks the answer. It tells me that my mind is still unsettled about her death. I want acceptance. I want peace. Tonight, my subconscious mind reminded me that there is still work for me to do.
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