It's hard to imagine that in the not too distant future, that stretch of pavement will be progressively less familiar (going up my Mom's street is not the most direct route back from most places).
I've been, naturally enough, swamped by a lot of memories over these past couple of weeks (yes, tomorrow morning will be two weeks since she died), one of which has been hanging on me quite a bit was the evening that I actually "moved out" into my own place. There was a surreal aspect to closing and locking the door behind me and heading OUT ... although my move had been a gradual thing (bringing a box here and a piece of furniture there down the street, rather than having a moving van). I had a similar pang the other evening. Both of my girls had a "game" they'd play while waiting for the elevator ... it had started when Daughter #1 was much younger, and she'd climb under this hall table and pretend she was a puppy who had been locked up in there and I had to undo the locks to let her out. Both of the girls were doing that and I was thinking it was quite possibly the last time ever ... and it made me very sad and deeply unhappy that I didn't have a camera to log the memory (for, as I've noted, if I don't have the picture or something like it, my memories fade like scrawl in the sand).
By the way. We brought my Mom home today. Her best friend had insisted that I wait to get Mom (she'd been "available" over at the funeral parlor since last Sunday) until she could come with me. She's buried multiple husbands, and she said that picking up the ashes is NOT something one should do alone. She told me that my Mom would have liked the blue cloisonne urn we'd picked out. Right now that's up on top of our big entertainment unit with the 11x17 picture of her we had done for the memorial service. As her friend said, my Mom was always semi-griping that we had so much of a better view of the lake than she did, well now she's got a panoramic view north and east, along with getting to keep tabs on her favorite grand-daughters.