Marge as a teenager

Marge (left) as a teenager. With her oldest sister.

Security

Hard to believe it's been three years since Mom passed away. Funny how memories work. I come across something while rearranging stuff and flash back to whatever that thing triggered. As I have said before, you don't appreciate how comfortable and safe you are as a kid when you have the consistency of a home to come back to every day. It's not the quality or cost of the things that represent home, it's what you come to know and expect.

I mention my comfort zone when I was a kid, but it's obvious Mom also preferred her consistency. She was always uncomfortable outside her comfort zone. I guess today she might have diagnosed with a version of agoraphobia as I think back to her behavior whenever we were "out."

I just saw the little pillow they gave her to hold on to at hospice. She acted like she was afraid when she first got there (before she faded and slept most of the time). Not only was she outside her comfort zone, her memory was fading so there is not idea what she was thinking. She clenched that little pillow like it might protect her from the unknown.

Mom's security pillow

Memories are good things, even memories of unpleasant things. They provide some context to why I am who I am today, and what matters to me. Thanks again Mom.