Snow Falling in an Empty House: Diary extract from 22.3.2005
‘Dear Delia,
Today we drove (you, I, your dad, our friend Brianne who has come from France to be with us) to Papa Jaaan (my mothers) house for the first time since she died .
It was strange, everything was just as it was before she left, except for the piles of mail, the Christmas cards still on the mantelpiece and the cold – no heating. As I sat and breastfed you on the sofa, feeling sad she was not there, (though it felt like she might walk in the doorway any moment), it started to snow. Looking through the panoramic bay windows in front of me, beautiful, huge snowflakes swirling around outside against the green. It was almost spring! I felt it was HER – in the snowflakes, visiting us for 10 minutes in a burst of energy, true to style. Fleeting, but reassuring. ’
Note, looking back: I remember going through my mothers draws to smell her clothes – the scent of her perfume was still there. I brought the perfume bottle home and still occasionally (it used to be frequent over the first year) I take it out, spray it on my skin and inhale ..her, in some form. A feral memory.
