No great genius has ever existed without some touch of madness. -Aristotle

You should never doubt what nobody is sure of. -Willy Wonka

In the end, we all become stories. -Margaret Atwood

It might be possible that the world itself is without meaning. -Virginia Woolf, "Mrs. Dalloway"

Monday, January 7, 2013

Slipping into Madness

"What will she eat?" "Where will she sleep?" She won't be comfortable on that lovely sofa and would be hard-pressed to sit upright in the wingback.

I walked through, again, and pulled the pins and nails and picture hooks off the walls. Some remain, the stubborn ones, as they too will not let go of her, of the role they played in her life. They supported what she loved, a quiet strength, allowing her to support who she loved.

I'm so crazy mad at her and crazy mad at myself for being crazy mad at her. I call her, I scream her name - Mom! Mom! Mama! - but only hear the echo of my voice bouncing off the now barren walls that up until a few weeks ago had showcased her life.

Surprisingly, there is a great sense of peace.

There is not one ant, not one fly, nothing but the baby bees that had attacked my car when I pulled in, annoyed that I had disrupted their pollination of her purple dogwood but more precisely to inform me they have been rendered guardianship in her absence.

Oddly, all I feel is comfort, a gentle blanket of left over love on a brilliantly sunny and unnaturally quiet day, perhaps to offer me a clarity that only stillness provides.

Then came the Mad Hatter Moment:
How easy it would be to slip into madness ... she's not back yet, still time to buy a shower curtain.

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