10:04 PM

My therapist has said repeatedly that my circumstances are strange, that I've not had an ordinary childhood, and other such sentiments. But I think that when someone finds your lived reality bizarre, it is often hard to concur. After all, it's all I know.

I sort of understood her a few nights ago.

Cleaning out our guest room, I had to move boxes taken from my mother's house. I didn't want to go through them yet, but a few things caught my eye. There was a file folder, and I opened it, wondering if I would stumble upon some important paperwork. I did. They were 4 different death certificates for members of my family.

A great-uncle who died when I was about 8; my mother's parents, only one of which I met and she died when I was 4; and my father who died when I was 6. There they were, filed by my mother, also dead now. All neat, all put away. All telling a story about another person I did not really know. We were clearing out the guest room so P's sister could move in. She's going to school in Chicago and is staying with us for about a month until her dorm opens. And I was struck by the juxtaposition. Making way for P's family, and moving the scraps of mine. Photos and death certificates. Military honors and rosaries. Objects that held meaning for people I do not know but who were instrumental in my existence. Who were they? It begs the question, Who am I?

My therapist described me as this last branch on a dying tree. And now, I'm being grafted onto P's family tree. But that's not an easy transition. No matter how this new tree suits me, the feeling of being lifted from my trunk, from having vague memories of knowledge of leaves as they fell, leaves me feeling less than whole. Less than stable.

I doubt I will ever forget receiving my mother's death certificate in the mail. You know the drill. You come home from work, open your mail nonchalantly. And suddenly, an official document was staring me down. My mother's full name, her stats, all neatly typed. And at the top, Time of Death. I don't know why this caught me so, but I couldn't stop staring at it. 10:04 PM. What was I doing at 10:04 PM? It was 9:04 my time. Where was I? Had I felt differently? Had I been laughing? Had I been thinking of her? Was she actually dead at 10:00 PM, but they called in four minutes later? The specificity got me. 10:04 PM. I couldn't stop thinking about it.

It's a lot to find. It's a lot to digest.