When I first entered my mother's house, after she died, it was horrible, it felt so wrong. I was mad too because we had just driven 12 hours and Martyn forgot to put our suitcase in the car. I was crying out of exhaustion and anger and immediately went to use the bathroom.
As I sat there crying, I looked up and there was my mother's nightie hanging. It looked so frail. She always wore a nightie no matter what the season.
I took the nightie and wept into it. It smelled like her, and it smelled like her soap.
I have that nightie now by my bed and sometimes hold it to my face so I can smell her.
I think I'll photograph it.
I guess one reverts a bit when a mother dies - for seconds at a time, and then you snap out of it and move on.
