I sighed and flipped the notebook back on the night stand.
“I miss you mom,” I whispered. I closed my eyes but not quite fast enough to stop hot tears from running down my cheeks. I reached over to grab a Kleenex. When would this horrible pain go away?
Last year…after a couple of halfhearted attempts…I had finally decided to get my own place.
I had lived at home while I was going to the University of Minnesota in order to save money…and since my mom and I were such good friends…living with her was a pleasure and just pure joy.
But I knew that after I had been working for a while that it was time to get my own house…and…it would be a smart investment for me.
We had had so much fun looking around for places in the Hawthorne area of Minneapolis…the neighborhood where I lived now…where in fact I had been born.
I wanted to get a house close by so I would be able to walk to the same shops and favorite restaurants that I did now…or even walk to mom’s house if I wanted. Why venture too far away from the nest, right?
But then she had been senselessly killed and my life had been shattered.
I simply could not move. Dad had died when I was 7 and even though I had only vague memories of him, they were all connected to this house.
I saw a man raking leaves or shoveling snow or walking up the back steps. But then that quick puff of memory would float away.
My mom had been a passionate gardener and the yard and boulevard were filled with trees, bushes and flowers that she had raised from little sprouts…just like me.
No. I wasn’t moving…not for a long time. Maybe not ever…