This evening I was seeing little pictures of her in my mind. Photos of her sitting and smiling, standing one hand on a door lintel. And then I looked around the living room, placing the photos around the room. Her black sweatshirt with the colourful trim lay spread on the back of the chair. The room seemed so small, the space seemed bigger in the photos. So full of life and colour.
Sometimes when we look at photos and we click through them quickly there are sequences where we took five or six shots and it's like she is jiggling, turning, smiling, looking away. Like one of those flip books. And so we keep flipping through the memories, revisiting the smiles and trying to flick away the tubes and blood and puffiness.
I miss her, I just miss her. Mamma looked so sad.
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