Well, they are both here in my room. My parents are sitting on a table in a corner of the room. Their urns sitting next to each other with a picture of them next to each of them. They have been reunited in death. At least that's the way I put them.
I think I will keep them for a few years. I suppose it would be morbid for some people to have ashes in their bedroom, but it gives me a great deal of comfort. I have them nearby again. I say good morning, and talk to them when ever I want. Does that strike you as strange? It shouldn't. It's not like I hear their voices talking back. I almost wish I could. I don't hear anything from them.
It's like they disappeared. I had a session with my therapist yesterday. I cried. I tried to explain how I was feeling. I feel like I don't belong to anyone anymore. I am an orphan. I have no family. But, that's not true. I have a sister, brother, niece and nephew, aunts etc. But, it's not the same as having parents.
With parents comes a home. A place to return to on major holidays; a home base. Home is a place where memories are stored. I don't have that anymore. My memories, what few I have, are scattered to the four corners of the earth. I'm trying desperately to remember things. Going through all these photographs helps. It's helping me to remember chunks of my life that were wiped out by shock therapy.
I found a couple of my letters from my mom. Maybe not letters, but journal entries. In one, she talks about how much she loves to do laundry. I thought that was funny, since laundry is my favorite thing to do too. I love the smell of fresh laundry. So did she. The other entry was about a nightmare she had. It reminded me about my own nightmares. It's almost as if my mom and I are the same person.
So, there they are. Ashes on my table, sitting there watching over me. I don't mind. I know they will protect me. I can turn to them at any time. Regardless of the fact that they were divorced, they are my parents, and they will always be together in my heart.
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