Lost In Time

Costume jewelry of Constance of Austria.

Costume jewelry of Constance of Austria. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Saturday night. All were out having fun, parties, shopping, dining out, visiting friends. She was home. Her and her  thoughts. She went into the empty room and walked over to the bed and laid down, hugging the pillow around her. Smelling the all familiar scent. She stood up and walked over to the closet. Opening it up quietly, like someone would hear her,she stepped inside, and ran her fingers through each piece of clothing, feeling the softness, and remembering the last time she had seen it worn. She took a particular dress off the hanger and walked over and gently laid it on the bed. She strolled over to the dresser, and carefully picked up the box and carried it over to the bed and laid it beside the dress. She slipped off her shirt and jeans and let the dress roll over her body until it rolled no more. She ran her hands down the front, stopping to play with one of the rhinestone buttons. She turned and looked at herself in the mirror, turning more, so she could see the back of the dress. It fit her perfectly. Every place that should be filled out, was. She slipped the belt through the loops and buckled it. She twirled around and around, the bottom of the dress swaying away from her. Standing in front of the mirror, she decided that in order to make a perfect picture, she needed the box. She went over to it, and gently lifted the corners. Catches from the light brought hundreds of twinkles. She touched one by one, picking a piece up and holding it against her dress until she found it. She picked it up, holding it to her chest, a tear formed in her eye. She carefully pinned the brooch on her dress. She bent down reading the labels, taking off lids, smelling each scent. She picked  her favorite one. Sweet timeless. She sprayed some behind her ears and on her wrist. She felt her cheeks get hot, and as she touched her face, she could feel wetness from the fresh tears that were falling. She stood for minutes, looking at her reflection in the mirror, it bounced an image back at her, of a memory fresh in her mind. She glanced at the clock on the wall, and was surprised at how long she had been in here. She carefully took the brooch off, put it back in the velvet box. Slipping the dress over head, she walked  over to the empty hanger and placed it in its rightful spot. She slipped her own clothes back on, straightened the bed coverlets, and walked out as quietly as she had walked in with a quiet shadow following her. Good night mama. I miss you.

I Am My Mother’s Child

Sometimes I think I am a strange creature on this planet. It doesn’t take much to make me happy. Although, there are more times than not, that I fall in to a slight, depression. This has happened ever since my parents have passed away. I can be happy, staying in my house coat all day long, never getting actually dressed. I can get great satisfaction out of cleaning my home. Rearranging the furniture, mopping the floors. Great happiness falls upon me when my brother is having zero issues. I walk into  his bedroom to hang up his clothes, and he gives me the biggest smile. It warms my heart and makes up for those days of dementia. I have much peace, when I have crawled into my bed, opened my bible, and read some. I lay my head down knowing that all my needs are taken care of and I need not worry about anything. I can sit out side  with no one to talk to, and feel the most peaceful of all, looking at the blue skies, the birds flying from tree to tree. Watching the ants crawl across my bare toes. I can have peace with no big TV sounds on nor the radio blaring. I enjoy knowing that the supper I prepare, will be openly accepted, with no complaints from my brother. I can have peace with no plans for today, no shopping to do, and no phones to answer. I am content with the thoughts in my head, transferring to words to share with you all. My mother used to sit in her sun room watching the deer run through the woods, and watch the traffic go by. No one was with her, she was all alone. I would drop by and make comments to her about how she should get up and go somewhere. That this wasn’t good for a person to just sit all alone. Now, years later, I am my mother. I know that she is smiling upon me from the heavens above, realizing that I am sitting alone, and enjoying her peace.