Far from home

For years I would see these trinkets in their familiar place on my mother's bookshelves. Now she is gone, and they stand by my books. I cannot measure how much I miss her; how much I miss seeing them there.

My mother died twelve weeks ago tonight. Together with her friends, I packed up her flat in the days that followed...

"On Closing the Apartment of my Grandparents of Blessed Memory

And then I stood for the last time in that room.
The key was in my hand. I held my ground,
and listened to the quiet that was like a sound,
and saw how the long sun of winter afternoon
fell slantwise on the floorboards, making bloom
the grain in the blond wood. (All that they owned
was once contained here.) At the window moaned
a splinter of wind. I would be going soon.

I would be going soon; but first I stood,
hearing the years turn in that emptied place
whose fullness echoed. Whose familiar smell,
of a tranquil life, lived simply, clung like a mood
or a long-loved melody there. A lingering grace.
Then I locked up, and rang the janitor's bell."

by Robyn Sarah from Questions About the Stars.