She reflected on how people fussed about holidays, memorial dates, birthdays... How they attach themselves to big events. How all these big things clutter the vanishing memory that clings to remain relevant in her brain.
It's the little things that hurt the most. That folding of the laundry done in silence, that underwear that doesn't need to be bought, the socks that will go lost forever, the shoes resting in the closet with no wear, the recipes that go un-tasted.
Maybe she didn't buy enough underwear, perhaps a forgotten birthday present. A lost phone call.
In these insignificant moments, the absence is most evident. No memory can exactly convey what her daughter would do, and what her son would say. Those moments in which she looks around and there is nothing but a cat and dog that got tired of waiting for her and resorted to curling on the bed.
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