Here we are, now. The day after, the morning after the night before. In a hotel room, not far away, we have woken up to a world where our mother no longer exists in her body. She is all around, though, everywhere all at once.

This morning, for the first time, I noticed one small sea green crystal on a necklace of all pink crystals, a necklace that I found on my last trip to her house. On that last trip I actually spent a few moments on myself, instead of just staying busy in her house, doing things for her, packing her things to take to Oakland for her to have there in her care home apartment. I gave myself the pleasure of organising her jewellery, one category of her stuff that I’d left before as it wasn’t essential to the organisation of the house. Non-essential to life, but jewellery is very important, and telling. It tells the tale of a person’s life, in small doses. The pieces are like little relics from moments. This is why I like to buy jewellery on vacation, or during a special time. I feel that the object can hold the memory of the time, can act as proof of existence at a later time. I have always struggled with object permanence, and I lately have tried to understand why. Is it my insecure attachment to my mother, my father, something determined in infancy? Is it from growing up in environmental chaos, a disheveled home, surrounded by too many objects, therefore unable to discern the useful and beautiful from all the rest? I don’t know yet, but I am aware that there is something there, at the root of it all, that I have yet to discover.

Going through Mom’s jewellery was a journey through her life. There were delicate gold pieces, I assume from before she had children. On finding these, I could imagine her life before, at University, a polished young woman from Chicago, shy and full of hopefulness. What happened to her? The pieces of this story continue to reveal themselves. An old boyfriend got back in touch with her recently, what was he like? It occurs to me that we have to tell him, she’s gone. Also, I might ask him, what was she like, before? He could help me to understand the timeline of events, of secrets we never discussed, secrets that impacted everything in her, and how she was, as our mother.

I found many pieces from the years we did not speak. She loved to buy jewellery, one of the few pleasures she would afford herself in her life. I found pieces in doubles, likely meant for me and Camille. I found lovely post pins, California-themed, which I gave to my kids on my last return. There were also enough silver crosses for all the kids to each have one when they are old enough. I will give Celestine one for her first communion this spring. The boys will have them when they are baptised, or perhaps I will wait for their first communion, as well. I took the pink crystal necklace back with me to France with other bits of her jewellery that I found in my moment. The pink is a calming colour, and I have worn it around my mother lately, and prayed with it on my body. Today there is one small green crystal that I did not notice before Perhaps it is her, she changed it, I think.

Last night we sat with her for hours, holding her hands, crying on her, over her, together for the last time, the three of us. We played music she loved, music we loved, danced a little in our sorrow. Her faced changed throughout, tiny little breaths leaving bit by bit. I believe her spirit lingered there with us, and left with us as well. Her face grew more and more relaxed, more and more youthful, more at peace.

I know the memories are locked in, I cannot remember every moment now, as the grief has arrived in a new form. I know from experience that all of these little moments will come back, piece by piece, and I must write as often as I can, whenever I remember a new story.

We stayed together for more than four and a half hours and it was beautiful.