Mom and Dad’s Room
We moved into our home in Inglewood 1974 (exact date escapes me). I can remember how happy I was to have a room, I did not have to share with my grandmother. While we were appreciative of having a place to stay, even family grows tired of sharing their space.
My parents allowed us the simple pleasure of selecting the color we would paint our respective rooms. I cannot say I agreed with the color choices my parents(likely dad) made for rooms in the house, but I certainly thought my typical seventies era chromatic preference was fabulous (lime green).
Mom and Dad never made their room off limits to us, but we knew if the the door was in any way, manner, or form NOT completely open(door knob touching the wall/door stop) we needed to knock or excuse ourselves before taking a step inside that domain. A room where many private talks occurred, loads of laughter, plenty of tears and maybe a couple things we will not discuss because I would NOT be writing if they had known.
First Dad and now Mom have passed on, the irreverent task of finishing up her” business” is left to my siblings and I on multiple levels of responsibility. My first trip back and things are so unfamiliar. Mom made sure every detail that could be handled prior to her death was taken care of, all we had to do was be able to read and follow instructions. Yet small details still needed to be dealt with; what color flowers we were going to have at her service, what to do with her personal items NOT accounted for in her living trust, and oh yes, how the HELL we were supposed to adjust to our lives as “adult orphans”.
Now returning to the home of my early “tweens” held memories but no visible signs of a life I was pretty convinced I was familiar with. Mom’s disease had taken her from us at least a couple years before she did succumb to her physical death, but signs of her old self lingered about. We knew she was here but we had no signs; no sights, sounds, or fragrance remained. Mom left us memories, but no spirits or ghosts.
The very room I now sleep in, the room that belonged to them, now feels like a mediocre room at a bed and breakfast. You must remember the personality and essence is now gone. The memories that I have to search for and uncover bring pain, as they come to the final chapter. A room I found comfort and answers in, now houses emptiness and a sad reminder of loss. Mom and Dad’s room is no more; the antiseptic pale blueish walls cover the years of vibrancy and life. Mom and Dad’s room is no more.