(no subject)
I wish I could care about Haiti, right now. I hear about it a lot. But I don't care. I can't bring myself to care.
Tuesday, January 12, my mother passed away.
She was 50, barely. She'd been out of the hospital for two days - kidney stones. I told her I loved her when I left for work, and she was fine. I talked to her at 5:30-ish, when my gramma called to tell me (worried) that she wasn't answering her phone. Still fine. Her phone had just died. I told her I loved her again.
I meant to call her at 8, on my lunch, but I ended up distracted.
On my way home, I stopped for McDonalds, because she wanted me to bring home food and I didn't get off work until midnight. I tried to call her, but she didn't answer. I figured she'd just wandered away from her phone. She did that sometimes; just walked off and left it upstairs or in the kitchen or on her desk.
When I got home, I found her dead on our living room floor.
My mom was my entire world. She was the coolest, most wonderful parent. She was, cliche as it sounds, my best friend. Sometimes she drove me crazy. Sometimes I drove her crazy. Sometimes we fought. But I never, ever had to doubt for one second how much she loved me. I never had to wonder if my mom had my back. She was disabled, but she was still so strong.
And now she's gone. Just. All of a sudden. She's just gone.
I'm dealing, I guess. Because I know that's what she would want, what she would expect of me. I went back to work yesterday. I've contained my intense sobbing fits, mostly. I talk to her a lot - just talk, in the hopes that somewhere she can hear me. I'm questioning all the faith I ever had, and at the same time hoping against all hope that it's all true. Because if there's anyone who ever deserved to be a badass angel, it would be my mom.
I feel like I can't dwell. I have to find a roommate, because I can't afford my apartment by myself. I have to go to work, because I need money. I have to handle things. I have to be strong. I have to make sure everyone else is okay. I have to stop crying all the time. I have to act normal.
I just... I really, really want my mom. And I'll never have her again.
Not ever.
Tuesday, January 12, my mother passed away.
She was 50, barely. She'd been out of the hospital for two days - kidney stones. I told her I loved her when I left for work, and she was fine. I talked to her at 5:30-ish, when my gramma called to tell me (worried) that she wasn't answering her phone. Still fine. Her phone had just died. I told her I loved her again.
I meant to call her at 8, on my lunch, but I ended up distracted.
On my way home, I stopped for McDonalds, because she wanted me to bring home food and I didn't get off work until midnight. I tried to call her, but she didn't answer. I figured she'd just wandered away from her phone. She did that sometimes; just walked off and left it upstairs or in the kitchen or on her desk.
When I got home, I found her dead on our living room floor.
My mom was my entire world. She was the coolest, most wonderful parent. She was, cliche as it sounds, my best friend. Sometimes she drove me crazy. Sometimes I drove her crazy. Sometimes we fought. But I never, ever had to doubt for one second how much she loved me. I never had to wonder if my mom had my back. She was disabled, but she was still so strong.
And now she's gone. Just. All of a sudden. She's just gone.
I'm dealing, I guess. Because I know that's what she would want, what she would expect of me. I went back to work yesterday. I've contained my intense sobbing fits, mostly. I talk to her a lot - just talk, in the hopes that somewhere she can hear me. I'm questioning all the faith I ever had, and at the same time hoping against all hope that it's all true. Because if there's anyone who ever deserved to be a badass angel, it would be my mom.
I feel like I can't dwell. I have to find a roommate, because I can't afford my apartment by myself. I have to go to work, because I need money. I have to handle things. I have to be strong. I have to make sure everyone else is okay. I have to stop crying all the time. I have to act normal.
I just... I really, really want my mom. And I'll never have her again.
Not ever.