My mom retired two years ago.
For thirty years she was the person who held everything together. Career, kids, a house that was always open. She was the one who remembered every birthday and stayed late and showed up early and never once suggested any of it was too much.
She was, as my dad always said, the whole show.
And now the show is over. And I’ve spent the past year watching her not quite know what to do with the quiet.
She scrolls her phone more than she used to. She reorganizes things that don’t need reorganizing. She bought a proper watercolor set eight months ago — researched for weeks, good paper, good brushes. The bag has sat by the door to her studio ever since.
Moved once, to make room for the vacuum cleaner. Never opened.