Homecoming

Who would have thought that a dusty old Honda Accord could have moved her to tears... With the rear bumper still pushed in on the corner from when Mum reversed it into the heavy wooden gate that kept her home private, with maroon paint that was cracked and faded. The same car that had driven her to the airport years ago. She made so many promises, and wished she'd kept more of them. An awful, heavy sadness had draped over her as she looked at it, leaving her adrift between numbness and tears.

A slow, shaking breath drew what little strength it could into Millie's willowy frame, as she stepped into a place that used to be a family home - Her family home - But was now just an ocean of memories. It didn't matter that Mum had stopped driving a year ago, she refused to give up the old rustbox. And she just knew that there would be a dark, oiley stain under the front of the vehicle, marring the driveway. Mum's parking spot.

It was a beautiful day. The grass was long, but not so overgrown, and the weeds that were beginning to poke their way through the garden would be prime for those calloused fingers. A ceramic fairy stood watch from the stump of a macrocarpa, the fissures on it's wings from that time it toppled off still visible. How proud that phone call had been.

Tell Lilly. Tell her I fixed her fairy for when she comes to visit again.

Lilly's reaction was as sweet and pure as any six year old. A bright smile, but a little confusion. They should have spent more time together. Another inhale, drawing in the scent of the grass, the lavender, the slightly roughened beauty of this place. Mum would have said it was perfect.

A good friend overlooks your weeds, and admires the flowers in your garden.

Millie felt the warm metal of the car, and forced herself to look upon the cracked white paint of weatherboard home. She wasn't ready for today. She could never be ready for today.

Her hand makes it's way into her pocket, and her fingers brush aside the sharpie and the post-it notes, to find the envelope she'd shoved in there. So much heavier than it should have been - She pulls the keys and their paper prison out, and tears them free to reveal her mothers keychain. The faded grey car key. The rounded curves of the house key, the more modern, jagged garage key. Several others she'd never recognised, and a small perspex frame with a picture of her sister. Typical, that she refused to help. Typical, that she'd refused to just let it be.

You don't always have to agree, or get along. But you always need to look out for eachother.

The key slid into the lock smoothly. Of course the locks were oiled, Mum wouldn't have let it be any other way. And when it turned, the sound of the bar retracting was a quiet, slick clunk. "Anyone home?" She called as the handle was pushed down and the door swung open. Of course no-one was home. Just silence, and the faint smell of a home that had been locked up for a few too many weeks. A lingering, acrid odour of cigarette smoke. Thank God it had already been cleaned... There's no way Millie could have dealt with the rotten food... Or with... Everything else. Why did they have to tell her about everything else?

A hand reaches up, to brush long brunette hair back behind her ear. She should have tied it up too. 'Should Have' was going to be the theme for today though. Should have stayed. Should have kept better contact. Should have come visit. The vinyl floor of the mudroom had dried, dirty bootprints on it. It had been raining when they'd found her... A shake of her head tries to dismiss that thought - That still fresh nightmare that comes when she thought of Mum's final moments. She couldn't dwell on it.

Darling, you can't hide all day. Things are always going to be different. You can't fight change.

You can't fight change. Like the dingy little toilet that she remembered that would be just on her right - Breezy, concrete floored, with a door you couldn't close once you were inside unless you didn't have legs. Now a pocket door hides it, and vinyl peeks out from underneath. She'd missed the renovation, too - Bringing this old home out of the 1950's and straight into the 90's. The sigh came from deep inside her soul, dragging the regret out of her as she cast her gaze into the kitchen instead. The brown, flaky stove was gone, and the melamine counters too. The worn vinyl removed and the floorboards sanded down.

The kitchen window was the biggest shock. She'd seen the french doors from the outside, but it wasn't real until she stood here - Staring at where the little table she'd had so many dinners, so many deep conversations, worked through heartbreak and heartache and headstrong moments. That was gone too. Who knew where it had ended up. Almost definitely with a friend, or someone in greater need. That was Mum, through and through. Her fingertips carressed the live edge of the newer countertops - And that was Mum too. As Mum as the gap between it and the wall, and the visible brush-strokes on the cabinets. Look over the weeds, Millie.

You can always feel the land beneath your feet. Never forget it, or where you came from.

Once upon a time those were easy words to follow. A barefoot kid who only wore shoes to school didn't need to be told twice. A grown-up, though - A mother herself... It was harder to hear her own mothers words and not have them ring hollow. Her children never left the house without shoes on, without hair brushed and clean clothes. A far cry from the life she'd known, but still... There was never any doubt in her heart that she was loved. Only a desire to know why.

Her steps echoed on the hard wood, making her way into the lounge. The smell of smoke was so much stronger here. An empty packet of tobacco was resting beside the armchair, and an ashtray on the other side. It came with a pang of grief, memories of hospital stays and hacking coughs. And through it all, Mum had never put down the cigarettes - Or, Millie recalled with a rueful smile, the wine. That's how all of her lingering memories were. That bright smile, that comforting laugh, a glass of wine and the haze of cigarette smoke.

Chocolate, wine and cigarettes, my darling, will fix anything.

Anything but this. This awful feeling that clutched her heart and made it hard to breathe. Knowing that Mum was gone forever, that there was not going to be any time to do things differently. The stack of post-it notes finally came out, and she placed one upon the outdated laptop resting on the coffee table. Her sharpie follows, a neat scrawl upon it. 'Keep.' The gas heater next - That was an easy decision. It had kept them warm for so many years, when they could afford to use it. But now the flaking paint and rusted metal can rest. 'Scrap.'

Millie's footsteps carried her slowly towards the one room she didn't want to go to. Start with the hardest task, and it'll all be easier from there.

How do you eat an elephant?

"One bite at a time." Millie's answer was aloud and immediate. If they had a family motto, that would have been it. And when the door to the bedroom is opened, the trapped air hits her like a gut punch. It smelled like her. The covers tossed back, bed unmade. Photos of Mum, of her family, a pile of clothing in the corner and the chaotic assortment of jewelery and perfumes. No matter how she tried to distract herself, her eyes wandered to where the carpet had been cut away.

The devastating awareness of what happened combined with the relief that she didn't have to cope with the smell, the sight, that her imagination was oh so willing to fill in for her. Empathy flooded her with the feelings of being alone, in desperation, waiting for help - Or waiting for the End. Terror slipped it's iced fingers around her heart and began to squeeze. Millie would have given anything to believe that death had come in her sleep instead.

But there was no escaping that the end hadn't come slowly. Neither serene, or clean. Drawing a slow, deep breath through her nose, she found herself walking into the room, and taking a seat upon the end of her mother's bed, a hand resting on the covers. All the tears had been shed already - Shed on the phone, shed at the airport, shed during the funeral. It felt like there was nothing left in her but the intense feeling of loss.

When it's my time to go, I'll go, darling. I only hope you won't need me any more when that happens.

Of course that wasn't going to happen. No child is ever ready to lose their mother, and she was never going to not be needed. Now more than ever. Her fingers tighten their grip, holding the bedding. "I'm not sure I can do this." She admitted - To the room. To the two square meters of plywood that had been exposed. "Mum. I'm not sure I can let any of this go." It's all she has left, now. The house was going to go whether she liked it or not, but every part of this place had something. A memory, or a regret.

The post-it notes in her hand finally distract her from the floor. A dollar worth of paper, on which she'd mark what meant the most to her, and what could go elsewhere.

These are all just things. Things can be replaced, Millie. People are what really matter.

Mum couldn't be replaced either. That was painfully obvious.

'Keep.' The word was written with a trembling grip, and the post it was peeled off and placed upon the chest of drawers. And then another word, 'Donate,' placed upon the bed as she forced herself to rise from it. Just things. All things that could be replaced. Slow steps carried her back out of the bedroom. Millie wanted to imagine herself galvanised by it, stronger and bolder, but every time she peeled a note off and stuck it to something her heart ached.

I know you're sad right now. But isn't it beautiful you had something in your life that was so important, that you are /so/ aware that it's gone?

When she thought she had time, maybe it hadn't felt that important.

But now it was gone, the sorrow was a dark pit she felt she couldn't escape from.

And it was beautiful.