I was already behind on things when my mother died, then I just stopped. I couldn’t focus on reading and I wrote only sadness. It’s been a month and 17 days since she passed and I still find myself picking up the phone to call her. I can’t say the exact moment I realize she won’t answer, usually, it’s when I’m scrolling through my contacts, sometimes it’s when I hear the dial tone.
I’ve had many close calls myself, from nearly starving as a baby to choking on plastic as a toddler. I was nearly thrown out of the monkey cages at a street fair when I was a child, I ran blindly into traffic, I gave myself two black eyes, at the same time, while playing hide and seek. I nearly drowned once, I got lost many times, and I’ve put myself into many situations in which something terrible could have happened. It may seem stupid but I’m confident that I will not die. I have always felt that I have a purpose and as long as I live without achieving that purpose, I’ll live to do so. (Does that make sense?)
Somehow, I’ve always thought that I could keep the people I love alive by giving them some of my…I don’t know, really. I guess I just thought that the universe would realize that I need certain people and since the universe needs me, it’ll keep the people I love alive. (Yes, I know this sounds narcissistic, I am nothing if not self-aware.)
Anyway, I can’t help but feel that I could have done something, should have done something, to save her. My mother was a goddess in the greek tradition; larger than life and faulted but I loved her and I didn’t know she needed saving.
There’s an ache in my heart of loss and fear. I know that she was proud of me and I know she would want me to keep writing. Most things I’ve written have been impersonal. I am a private person and I have strong opinions and chaotic emotions, but I don’t usually share that with the world. I learned at a young age that there are people who see feeling as weakness and opinions as arrogance. I was careful to develop an image of detachment and aloofness and it has served me well, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I am who I am and this blog will reflect that.
I’ll probably put my foot in my metaphorical mouth a few times, and I’ll curse and spew out rants about things you probably don’t care about. You probably won’t agree with what I say, or you may take offense to how I say it, that’s your right and no one is making you read this blog. If you feel compelled to comment, I encourage you to do so. If it’s about my shitty grammar, you’re probably right. This blog will be unedited because I want it to be honest and I tend to rewrite when I edit. If you’re posting your agreement, yay! Who couldn’t use more validation from strangers on the internet? If you’re disagreeing, then you’re welcome too, I don’t care what you say or how you say it as long as you’re honest. As mentioned above, I’m pretty narcissistic and I’m usually right, so say what you will but you’re (probably) not going to change my mind.