I’ve decided to use my mom’s unfinished poetry journal for the memory book I started today. It’s the same faded old book, with a cover that looks like an offset print version of italian marbled paper, that I used for a last minute makeshift guest list at her service and memorial.
This is grief in the age of pandemic.
Mom bought the journal maybe 25 years ago, to celebrate landing an awesome job in the city. I found my dad’s journal today from that time period. He wrote, “Catherine’s going to work for the CFO of Fabrik Communications. We have health insurance again for the first time in 3 years.”
Now that made me cry. Did I know they were uninsured? I didn’t start taking care of them til the year 2000 or so.
Use what you have, I told myself the morning of her funeral. There’s no time now, to shop for the quote-unquote “right thing.”
Anyway, such a relief not to have to go out. And go where, exactly? That’s right, everything’s closed. This was before Books, Inc opened back up. She died at the start of Memorial Day weekend, 2020.
But in letting myself not over-plan anything, I was able to accept and even be grateful for, all the constraints placed upon me during the process.
I found the perfect notebook to upcycle.