I am at home but I feel really cold. Maybe it’s my low iron again, or just that the temperatures have dropped a lot outside over the past few days. Or probably I just take after you. We both tended to get cold quickly. I even have your plaid shawl around me- the heavy one I bought for you years ago, and a blanket on my lap. But… .I still can’t seem to warm up.
So… I finally made use of your hot water bottle. Well, actually, if I remember correctly, maybe you bought it for me many years ago? And then I kept it in my kitchen or closet and didn’t make use of it. Remember the one with the tartan kind of fleecy cover on it? I think that I ended up giving it back to you a couple of years ago? I don’t know. I’ve lost track of time and memories.
Either way, I know that you bought it for either you or me. And you LOVED hot water bottles. They definitely make me think of you. That should be all the more reason for me to make use of this one, right? I am sorry to say that it’s actually exactly what made it really hard for me to pull it out of my kitchen cabinet.
It’s just not the same without you. Hot water bottles, Vix Vapo Rub, Dimatap, they are all full of memories of you. Or they fill me with feelings about you. All the best, most nurturing kind. Same with cold compresses on foreheads, or just your hand on a forehead, or you massaging any legs that were near you- whether they were mine, your son’s or your granddaughters’. Your soft and warm touch would always make us feel better without even us realizing it right away. So calming and soothing and full of love. Everything you did was out of love.
That’s why it has taken me over a year to pull out that hot water bottle, and just as I should have suspected, it doesn’t really seem to work. Sure, there is some warmth coming from it but it’s short lived and not at all the same. Something is missing. It wasn’t actually the hot water bottle that was warming me, was it? It was you.
They say that it takes time, but I think they are wrong. Still nothing is the same without you. And it feels words each day instead of better because at the same time I find it hard to face the memories, I am equally afraid to forget them.
I went to Save On Foods today- the one in North Vancouver we always went to. It feels like every aisle conjures up another memory of you for me. The pharmacy where we’d get your prescriptions filled, the wall shelf that housed the high in calcium (but low in sugar) energy drinks we’d get you, the cosmetics area where you’d buy the same shampoo in the thin green bottles. Or and new bottle of hairspray. God, I miss watching you spurt some hairspray over your head to add some body to the top.
And of course, the one percent milk and ,multi grain bread you’d know exactly where to find. Oh, and bananas, and sometimes mangoes. We could never leave the grocery store without bananas. You loved bananas. And I think you loved buying mangoes for me, and to remind you of Mama.
As I write these memories down now, a part of me smiles for a few seconds. I genuinely feel some of those moments so deeply embedded in my heart and mind, that they seem impossible to forget. But the thought that I will never have them again, the actual experiences with you, overwhelms this same heart with more sadness than I ever thought I could feel. There is a searching that I go through every time I am somewhere that you and I frequented often together. Like when I am in some of those favorite places of yours.
It’s like I am looking through the aisles for you. Searching for you. But then I remember that you’re gone. Maybe I find bits and pieces to hold onto, because of the sweet smells as I walk by the fruit section, or when I pass by the white basmati rice, but there are also holes and emptiness that must make me appear so lost.
For a moment, as I am walking back to your car in the parking lot, I remember that I will never have your rice or see you get excited about cooking samosas again. And I know that nothing can ever replace that.
So as I hug this hot water bottle tighter to my chest, to try to feel you closer to me, I realize I cannot magically squeeze my mother’s warmth and love out of it, or through it. And I just watch as my tears fall down onto its tartan cover. It is the same hot water bottle, but nothing feels the same as it used to be.