Work in progress-excerpt

Standard

Laurabeth.

Laurabeth Klara Lockwood.

My first name was a combination of my mother’s first and middle names. Klara was an eastern European great-grandmother I’d never met, my mother’s grandmother. My mother died when I was six. I should have clung onto my name like a child to outgrown holiday traditions because it was a tie to her, but the name was a daily reminder. Your mother named you for herself and her grandmother. Your mother is dead. Your mother is dead. Your mother is dead.

I had my mother’s jewelry, her knickknacks, her blanket chest, many, many photos, even dried-up perfume bottles—but did I really remember that fragrance on her, or had I convinced myself that I did? I could remember her in a thousand ways; selfishly, I wished that I didn’t have to be her every time that I wrote or typed my signature.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s