Well, I can say it's because there's not much shelf space, which is true. And i can say I'm just messy by nature and a hoarder. But deep down, there is a deeper reason. These papers, documents and pictures are difficult to touch and more difficult to look at. I asked myself as I flipped through the papers why I keep all these things... Aren't these pieces of paper going to go yellow and fade one day? Will they not in ten, twenty years' time be as good as rubbish? To anyone else, they're just pieces of paper, but to me they are part of me.
The papers range from certificates issued by the hospital to official notification from the city hall that my mum has been "deregistered" from the national census, the documents are in folders dealing with the estate and the family home I'm on the verge of losing, and the pictures are those I put up on the wall of the hospice room to make the drab place feel more "homely" for mum's sake and everyone's sake.
I had to sort through some of them tonight, in search of something I need for work. I grabbed a folder, flipped through it, and then set it down. I know what I'm getting myself into, but I cannot stop until I find what I'm looking for. Then came a point when I needed to stop, for I could no longer see... My vision became blurred and watery. Then sitting on the floor, I began to sob again.
Amid bank statements and passport pictures of mum, I saw the envelop again. On it mum wrote my name, the name she has always used to call me, a cute version of my real name that makes me sound like I'm a little kid, who is full of wonder, full of joy and a bundle of cuteness. I guess for her, I've always been, and will always be, her little kid.
Inside was a note bearing her pen marks, and a bit of money. More symbolic than anything else, for the money cannot be used and must be kept forever. It's symbolically the very last thing she is leaving behind in this world and giving me to keep.
She told me one day, days before she left, where she left this very envelop bearing my name, and to only open it after she has......
I opened it only once, after she passed, and quickly put it away. I could put it away then, and move on to busy myself with others things that needed taking care of back in July. Opening it again today, and seeing her handwriting wrenched my heart.
I am still not ready, at least not ready by myself to deal with the things lying on the floor. Not ready... Not ready.
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