I saw it today. Printed in black on the sepia paper and it glared at me. I tried to force myself to look at it and my breath caught in my throat. I always loved her name, but seeing it printed there, on that terrible textured paper, my name emblazoned across the top, was like a slap in the face.

I couldn’t look at it, I saw the first part, and part of her last name and I quickly closed my clipboard. I hated it.

It was my mother’s official death certificate, as issued by the province. It can’t be real. That’s what I think. Even now, after eight months. It cannot be real. She cannot be gone. It isn’t fair.

Her house is empty. Her things are gone. Her clothes have been donated. Her furniture gifted to grandkids. Her accounts closed. Her mail redirected. Her business no longer exists. Her taxes have been filed.

But her purse and cigarette pack still sits tucked beside my bedroom chair, her phone (while disconnected) sits within my arm’s reach. Some things, I just can’t seem to let go of. And while many say this is ‘normal’ and ‘totally okay’, I’ll let go in my own time, I don’t know if there will ever be a ‘right time’.

I have come to know there isn’t anything logical with it comes to death and grief. What I know, what I understand, what I feel, what I think – all seem to be different. And not all of it is logical.

I want to look at her name on that stupid piece of paper and not have it haunt me. I don’t like the fit of uncontrollable tears I just experienced. Grief so full on, it was like the first hours after she died all over again. Fresh and new and painful.

It has been a while since I have had a ‘sad day’ where I just missed Mom. And maybe that’s just what I need. Just a day to be sad and reflect. Since her house is empty and up for sale, my sister and I are no longer getting together a couple times a week to be in her space. Her space. It is just an empty container now that has no traces of Mom. Her things, her feeling, her essence, is gone.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to look at her death certificate but I can tell you, today is not that day.