I dust her things

Today I got up a 6:30 a.m. determined to get my housework done by lunch. I got up, ate my breakfast, looked on the internet as I drank my 2 cups of coffee, took a bath and got dressed and all. I started dusting which is always my first job (because I hate it the most) at around 8:00. Well at 10:30 a.m. I was still dusting. My house is so filled with Kaitlyn’s old things. I have a shelf that has lots of odds and ends, pictures of my girls, Kaitlyn’s bronzed baby shoes with her birthdate, the porcelain little blonde girl with the number 7 beside her that her teacher gave her because she loved her so much. That teacher told me Kaitlyn was the kind of student that makes all teachers want to be teachers. Other places have her framed pictures of Africa and the things she did there that I took off her apartment wall. I dusted the table we bought for her at World Market after we spent hours for her to decide on just which one to get. I dusted the things she brought back from Africa, all the pictures and paintings from her wall and it just goes on and on from there. I cried the whole time. Crying and dusting takes a great deal of time I have found. Every time I clean this happens.

I tried to make a neat pile beside my couch where I sit of all the things I have been doing since Kaitlyn died. Her picture album of her most recent pictures printed out notebooks of my blog, of emails and messages from friends about her to me. Many books on death, dying, grief, loss and suicide. A CD of songs someone sent to me that they made, (actually I have 2 from two different people who sing beautifully and are a great comfort). I have pamphlets from Compassionate Friends. Supplies to continue making print outs of my blogs for a note book. I piled them up beside me in a rather unneat pile, but I need them there. I use all these things.

The bitter sadness of having to dust off the things of a person that has died, that was your heart and soul is so extremely difficult. Just the one of the many things that a grieving parent has to do on a day to day basis. It never ends. It never softens, it never leaves. It’s there. But she is not. But I dust her things.


About gatito2

My name is Rhonda. I'm a registered nurse, for the last 20 years, that has not been able to work since the day I learned of my daughter's death by suicide 4-12-13. (She actually died 4-11-13 and her body was not found until the 12th) Me and my husband have been married for 32 years and he's a wonderful man. We grieve in different ways. He works, I write. This is my journey through this horrible land of losing a child..
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