As my Rosemary’s death four years ago recedes, I find myself seeing images of her in my memory, particularly when I turn off the lights before I go to bed, associated with other people who also died.
Recently I have been seeing her in with my mother. Some are images that I can immediately find on my home’s walls. One is not a photograph. My mother in the presence of Rosemary and me breathed in and never breathed out. She died in 1972. This was just one more intimate moment that I shared with Rosemary.
Today it was sunny enough that I took Niño for his walk around the block. I wore my dark blue Filson jacket that I bought in Seattle at the Filson factory with Rosemary in tow. I wrapped my neck with the lovely cashmere scarf Rosemary gave me. And for extra protection I put on the light blue wool gloves that Rosemary gave me not too long ago.
When I arrived home I was missing one of the gloves. I looked everywhere. Perhaps it was in the kitchen where I went immediately to feed Niño. It was not there.
My mother and Rosemary had this marked obsession that when they lost something they would backtrack. I did just that. Halfway through the route I took with Niño I found the glove.
I cannot speak for others but the possessions that I have that were given to me by someone I loved, have this extra quality of somehow the person who gave me the gloves is in those gloves. Part of their soul/spirit remains.
When I found the glove, immediately in my mind, I saw Rosemary smiling.
My mother, too.
