I started clearing out my Mum's sewing room. My Grandma passed away not long before and her house completed 3 weeks before my Mum passed away. Everything from Grandma's house had been shoved into the sewing room before my Mum's funeral. It's only a small room but you couldn't see from one side to the other.
My Dad had crammed everything in there. I had assumed her sewing things were put away. But my Grandma's stuff was actually piled like a wall around her desk. Her sewing machine pulled out, abandoned mid job. A pile of cut out pieces of a project on one side, sewn pieces on the other and a pinned piece in front of it waiting to be sewn. Her weekly calendar had a note of how much fabric she needed to buy. There was fabric pinned to her dressmaking mannequin and sketches of dresses in her notebook. I guess she was starting to plan a new pattern just at the point her cancer spread.
Of everything that's hurt since my Mum died this hurt the most.
In the days immediately after I kept repeating in my head "where are you?, where are you?". I know she's dead but some silly part of my brain is still scanning around looking for her like a lost kid in the supermarket. Putting away her sewing things felt like erasing the memory that she was here. It needed to be done but it's hard to accept its even happening.