Mommy never stopped grieving for Daddy. Her eyes, face, and slump-shouldered-shuffle spoke of her deep sorrow. We children saw this and mourned. We had already lost our father; now we were losing our mother as well. A faraway look was in Mommy’s eyes constantly, and she began to do and say strange things that only she could understand. Her attention was caught elsewhere, on something other than us children, and she would cock her head, listening, as if a soft voice only she could hear was whispering in her ear.
I would ask her, occasionally, what she was listening to. If her eyes happened to land on me, it was if she were looking through me. As if I were invisible. As if I weren’t even there. I wondered about that…about why Mommy couldn’t see me. It left a little fearful place in my heart.
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