Frozen In Time

The funeral was unusually quiet, no one had been to see mom in years. The guilt hung like wet blankets on a line. The job of cleaning out the house was mine, since I got it anyway. The shutters hung from one screw screaming in the wind to be released from the old mansion. Dust rose from the carpets in mushroom clouds and clung to everything when they settled. The creaking of the stairs scared the mice into running for cover under the molding furniture. In the closet, mom’s dresses hung like sides of beef waiting to be cured, processed or destroyed. The pictures hung neatly on the walls, pictures of who she wanted us to always be, happy, young children playing together. There were no pictures of our weddings or her grandchildren, it’s as if she died when we moved, over twenty years ago.