I found something in my wallet today.

I was digging for the gift certificate Jason had given me for my b-day last year. It was crammed in behind the change pocket and when I pulled it out, another folded piece of paper came out with it.

I opened it up.

It was dated June 6

One week later. Seven days.

It was my mother’s last paycheck. I had meant to cash it long ago. Nearly 2 years ago. But after having done it a few times with some of my mother’s other last items, I was in no hurry to break down into tears in the bank again. So I tucked it away and tried not to think about it.

When I opened it up today I wondered how I might have to go about cashing a thing like that. I would probably need a death certificate. But I wondered what would happen if I didn’t, if I just tried to deposit it. In my head I heard my voice explaining to someone. I heard myself say

She died on May 30

And the numbers sounded so cold. Like facts from a text book

I was hit again by a wave of loss. I felt like a gaping hole.

I remembered the odd stale smell of desert dust and the sound of pebbles on tile, like our kitchen floor. It was the sound I heard when I sat in her chair. She always sat in her chair. No one else. It was her place. It was where she set her coffee cup and her cigarettes and her tissues. It was where she kept the scrabble game and her deck of cards and her handheld electronic yahtzee. It was where she sat when I painted her nails, her big strong beautiful nails. It was where she sat when she ate dinner, when she drank tea, when she waited for me to make her Sunday morning omelettes. It was right in front of the swamp cooler so she wouldn’t be hot in the summer. Right next to the empty chair where she stashed things.

It was the chair she hung her purse on everyday of her life. It was where she kept all the financial papers. Where she paid the bills. I remembered sitting there for the first time paying her bills. Feeling like I didn’t fit in her chair. The pen felt awkward in my hand, writing her checks. But I knew how. I knew how because just a few months before she had asked me to do them for her.

I know now what she knew. She knew. She knew she was going to leave me. She wouldn’t tell me, but she wanted me ready.

How could she know i would never be ready?