Several years ago, my mother gave me one of her back brushes. She had two or three, so she gave me one.
I never used it, put it away meaning to use it if I ever needed to scrub my back.
Well, my back itches. Getting old, I guess. Itchy and itchier! The doctor told me it was because of old age. Humph!
Yesterday I found the back brush and took it to the sink to see if it needed to be washed or at least dusted.
Oh, it needed more.
There were silvery white hairs stuck in the bristles.
My mother's hair.
All that is left of her!
All her own DNA.
Not what was cremated. Not what was dumped into the lake behind her house. Not what was buried next to my father.
My mother's last remaining bits.
The girls and I removed the hair from the back brush and put it into a small plastic bag.
It's almost wrong. It's almost pathetic.
But it is her.