“Have you been writing?” She asked. “And what do I write about Mom? My problems are no more than anyone else’s. “ I knew she heard the sarcasm in my voice. “Oh this horrible year. “ I continued “Oh I lost my job, oh I have no money to pay my mortgage? I can maybe last another month tops? I have no insurance so if I get sick with this I’m screwed?” I think she could hear my eyes rolling. “Well, you shouldn’t give it up. It’s something you are good at. You love it.” Her tone was motherly. Encouraging. Hopeful. Soothing. “No mom, I’m not giving up. But there is really nothing I can say right now that hasn’t been said. And what has been said, has been said at a level far beyond my novice skills and abilities.” I lamented. “Well you always have something to say.” I heard her smile through the phone. I wasn’t irritated. There is nothing like the encouragement of a parent and I loved her for it. No, it was more an irritated revelation of my sheer disappointment and sadn
The separation had been particularly hard on her. He seemed to take it in stride like nothing of their 18 years together mattered. He lost his spark for her, it was gone and she was slowly fading away. She noticed it first the week after she moved out. She arrived at his house, the house they once shared, to find all of the pictures with her in them, gone. The ones with him and the children remained, but any image of her ceased to exist. All of her touches on the house: the mantle arranged just so, the kitchen counter, the chairs at the dining room table. Different. Gone. They hadn’t vanished. They weren’t missing..... they were missing her. The process was going faster than she’d thought. She was being wiped away. Wipe by wipe, she was being erased. She pictured herself as the remnants of eraser leavings on a piece of paper. The kids remained, he remained, the house remained, but she was erased out and blown away, just some rubber pieces brushed away to the floor. She move