We lost my mom when we moved back to Portland from Idaho. She’s never been the same. Or it might have been before that, when we moved there. Or maybe when my sister was conceived. It could be it was before we even came along. Or that it happens in a series of small breaks.
but when we came back she stopped pretending. There was some sort of letting loose of herself. A tail between the legs giving in to the inevitable end to her former self. Still, knowing and knowing are worlds away from one another and after dad died she not only wasn’t herself, she hated who she wasn’t too.
Hates us even. Oh I know I’m not supposed to say hate. Nobody is allowed to say hate about anything anymore. Except maybe a movie or some other inconsequential. As if banning a word takes away what it needs to express.
It’s only because she loves us. It’s only because she thinks she owes us. It’s only because she does.
I’ve been trying to think of how to break her loose. I’d like to remind her she’s not dead yet. I’d like to tell her he would have done it no matter what. I’d like to tell her we don’t blame her. I’d like to think it might matter. that I might matter.
It’s a tricky thing to suggest … that a person can ground us. That a person can bring us back to our self. That it could be something she needs from me....Just me doing something that reaches into her heart with emotional shock pads and jolts her back to us, to her. If that’s the case she’s also right. And if she’s right then we’re all wrong.
And we failed him.
I'm pretty sure she won't ever let us prove that. But I miss her.
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