Her Old Room

I am quarantining in my mom’s old room on the second floor. She used to sleep here until she fell and broke her bones. She had not been up here in a long time, yet all of her belongings are still here.

Whenever we spent the weekend here, I always sneaked up to her room early in the morning while my wife and kids were still sleeping in the basement. I would wake her up and we would have a few hours of private moments together. She would tell me everything on her mind. She made me feel like a forty-something-year-old kid. I treasured those moments.

Now laying alone in her room, I keep starring at her closet, which filled with clothes she hasn’t worn in a long time. I ran my hand through her shirts. I recognize the silk shirt with flowery pattern, which has to be one of her favorites. She wore this shirt many times, including on her eightieth birthday I threw for her. I still remember the beautiful smile on her face. She looked so happy with family members and friends celebrating her special day. I missed the good old days.

From her extra firm bed with head pins everywhere to secure the bed sheet to her pillows with safety pins to secure the cases, everything in this room reminded me so much of her.

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