WHY THIS JOURNAL?

Writing has always helped me to process my feelings - my hope is that by writing about my grief I'll be able to find some acceptance. My mother's passing has plunged me into the depths of despair. I spend many hours alone and have few people to share my desperation with. I also don't want to use my loved ones as an emotional dumping ground ... this seems like a viable alternative. Also, when I do talk to someone about what I'm feeling I often hold back.  Some of the feelings I have are just too dark and frightening to say outloud.  Maybe here, I'll be able to be totally candid -- express myself without restraint.  After all, this is my blog ... it's for me ... no one else is supposed to be here.

My age isn't important but in years I'm far from being a child. I am however my mother's child -- my mother's baby girl - the youngest of four. I never have felt grown-up and my mother nourished the child within me. Honestly, I think she enjoyed that even in my fifties, I relied on her and still called her "Mommy".

I myself have no children, no husband, no job and only a couple of distant friends. My mother was the most important person in my life.

I chose "Friday's Child" as my new internet identity because of one of my mother's favorite stories about me. I don't remember the incident itself but I've heard my mother tell it often.  It's one of my favorite stories that my mother told because it truly illustrated how much I love my mother.

When I was a little, little girl I went shopping for something for Mama for Mother's Day ... I had a quarter. I bought a card which cost 19 cents, tax included. When I gave the card to Mama she discovered that I had enclosed the 6 cents that was left over. This made Mama cry.  She said she was crying because it touched her so much when she realized that although it was only 6 cents I had given her everything I had in the world! She always thought that was a remarkable thing for a child to do and always mentioned that I have been very generous all my life. Additionally, I was born on June 19th, 1953 ... a Friday.

WHY TROUBLED CHILD?

Troubled Child
Music & Lyrics by Joni Mitchell

 Up in a sterilized room
Where they let you be lazy
Knowing your attitude's all wrong
you got to change and that's not easy
Dragon shining with all values known
Dazzling you-keeping you from your own
Where is the lion in you to defy him
When you're this weak And this spacey ?

So what are you going to do about it
You can't live life and you can't leave it
Advice and religion you can't take
You can't seem to believe it
The peacock is afraid to parade
You're under the thumb of the maid
You really can't give love in this condition
Still you know how you need it

They open and close you
Then they talk like they know you
They don't know you
They're friends and they're foes too
Troubled child, breaking like the waves at Malibu

So why does it come as such a shock
To know you really have no one
Only a river of changing faces
Looking for an ocean
They trickle through your leaky plans
Another dream over the dam
And you're lying in some room
Feeling like your right to be human
Is going over too
Well some are going to knock you
And some'll try to clock you
You know it's really hard to
talk sense to you
Troubled child, breaking
like the waves at Malibu

Copyright © 1973; Crazy Crow Music

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Challenged by BPDII I struggle daily with trying to live a responsible, productive life -- trying to apply the tools I've been given in therapy to keep the demons inside at bay, quiet the voices that tell me I'm worthless and I'd be better off dead. Now, unable to cope with my mother's death I've become more frightened, more angry and more anguished. I've become more cynical, less hopeful --- more withdrawn, less emotionally available.

I'm conflicted -- bouncing between the two, the relatively happy loving/giving child and the mentally ill tormented child. But whichever side of me emerges there's one thing that remains constant ... the perpetual voice inside me that wails, "Mama! I want my mama!" It's the voice of a child; my mother's Friday's Child, loving & giving and her troubled child, "breaking like the waves at Malibu".

June 22, 2003

I called the nurses station and told them that my mother was in so much pain that she wasn't even able to speak to me. I tried to be calm but inside I felt sheer panic. I listened to the nurse as she told me that Mama had been having a very bad day. She told me things I was trying to understand but I was distracted -- I just wanted her to get off the phone and go to my mother. She spoke of kidney failure and some other things I can't remember. She asked me if I was the next of kin and I told her the local contact was my sister. Finally she told me she was going to make Mama as comfortable as possible and we hung up. As I hung up the phrase "next of kin" rang in my ears ... was that her way of telling me Mama's time had come?!?!

I hung up and immediately called Nita. Had she spoken to Mom that day or seen her? How was she? She said Mom was fine. I told her I had just gotten off the phone with Mama and the nurses station and that Mama was defintely not fine -- that something was terribly wrong. I told Nita that I was scared -- that I heard Grandma's death voice coming out of Mama -- that same sad, tiny, tearful sound I heard from Grandma's lips the last time I saw her, shortly before she passed. I cried and told her I was afraid we were losing Mama. Nita told me not to worry or be scared -- that she knew it was hard but that Mama was okay the last time she talked to her. I told her I pleaded with the nurse to go check on Mama and she said she would. It's not a criticism of Anita but I felt certain she thought I was being a drama queen or an alarmist -- but I couldn't help myself -- the fear was overwhelming. After Nita and I hung up I cried and prayed, begging the Lord to ease my mother's pain -- just ease her pain ... it was all I was asking for.

I couldn't stop thinking about how everytime I talked to Nita, Flip or David they said that they had talked to Mama and she was doing better or doing okay. I didn't understand why she only cried to me -- why wasn't she telling everyone how she was really feeling? Not that I care how it made me look to the familly -- I was confused ... what was really happening? Why did she only cry to me? It was ripping my heart out and the fact that she didn't cry to anyone else made it difficult for anyone else to think that I was being anything other than a alarmist and therefore how could they take my concerns seriously?

The rest of the night I was uneasy. I had told Mama that I would call her back but I didn't. I thought I would let them give her pain medication and then she could rest. I didn't want to disturb her ... so I didn't call back. I thought I would call her the next morning and she'd be better, rested. I though surely God would answer my prayers and allow her to rest easy so, I DIDN'T CALL BACK!! Damn ME!! I hate myself for that! I hope with all my heart that they had given her pain medication ... that she was resting and she didn't think I had forgotten her.

It was nearly impossible to fall asleep that night -- I keep praying over and over and over, "Please, Father, help my mother. Please give her some relief from her pain -- if her body is in distress from the pain it slows the healing, please give her body a chance to rest and heal. Please, please, please, please, please - help my Mama." Had I not been so emotionally wasted from crying all day I probably wouldn't have gotten to sleep at all. I remember thinking just before I drifted off, "This can't be happening, my mother doesn't deserve this or all the distress she's been going through the past few months -- why is this happening?!?!"

Things would get much worse the next day.

Monday - June 23, 2003

I woke up feeling edgy and unsettled. It was 6:30AM; Mr. Man had left for work. I had noticed that the St. Joseph candle I had been burning for Mama had burned out. I had other candles but since Mama was in St. Joseph's Hospital I felt compelled to go buy another St. Joseph candle. While I was at the store I picked up a couple of things remembering that it was Monday -- traditionally the day to do laundry and cook Red Beans & Rice.

Once I returned home I put a pot of water on the stove to soak the beans. While I was doing that and unpacking the groceries I hit the speakerphone button and heard the stutter tone indicating I had a message. I hit *98 to pick up the messages. It was Nita -- she said that Mama was in ICU and that I should call. I immediately hung up, picked up the phone and dialed Anita. She told me that the hospital had called her at midnight and that Mama was in ICU. She was in kidney failure and in critical condition. I remember opening the bag of beans and being so stunned that I just dumped the beans in the water without cleaning them. Nita told me that if I was able (health-wise as I had been released from the hospital just the previous week) that I needed to come home. I told her that nothing could keep me from coming.

I called Mr. Man and told him I had to go to California -- that Mama was critical. I called Meecie and I wasn't able to tell her, all I could do was cry. She came downstairs immediately. She held me, she prayed with me. I told her about how anxious I was when I woke up and about the St. Joseph candle. We moved Mama's picture and the candle and lit it.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning, cooking and packing. Mr. Man mentioned I should pack a dress. I resisted thinking it was courting trouble but as usual Mr. Man was trying to talk sense to me when I wasn't thinking clearly.

All through the day as I made arrangements to leave I called everyone I knew and asked them to pray. I emailed all my friends and asked them to pray. And I prayed, "Please, Mama, wait for me." Please, Father, if it's your will to take my mother please let me make it in time to hold her -- to tell her I love her -- to say goodbye." And still I prayed for a miracle too -- "Please don't take my Mama away from me -- please heal my mother." I don't believe I'd ever been more frightened in my entire life as I was that night and the fear would only increase in the next 12 hours.

I was up most the night. I don't even know how I had gotten everything done, how I had the composure to write checks to be mailed in case I wasn't back, write Mr. Man notes with phone numbers, etc, take phone numbers with me. As we lay in the dark, unable to sleep, Mr. Man and I spoke of me moving to California to be with Mama after she was released from the hospital ... it was total denial, maybe a way to keep hysteria at bay.  We had discussed it before.  He knew I was willing to give up my entire life for my mother and go live with her for months ... even years if it meant it would make her happier.  I had discussed it with Mama when she first went into the hospital and it made her so happy to know that I was finally coming home.

As I lay there in his arms I knew that my life was about to change dramatically - either I would lose my mother and thus lose the most important person in my life or I was going to go live with my mother and lose the life I had with Mr. Man.  One would have to know me to know that nothing was a sacrifice if it was for Mama - it was an opportunity to express my love.  I slept little that night and was grateful that Mr. Man didn't let me go not once as he slept.

**NOTE**    After I arrived home from California Meecie told me that she didn't want to tell me that day, but that St. Joseph was the patron saint of the dying and a happy death. I found this a pretty huge coincidence. Realizing that, I thought it was pretty morbid to dub a hospital St. Joseph's. I thought to myself that had I known that I never would have burned a St. Joseph candle and maybe would have even implored Nita to get Mama the hell out of there. But then again, what did it matter - it all seems pretty much like superstition to me now.  It wouldn't have mattered anyway ... it's not like anyone was listening to my concerns anyway.

June 24, 2003 - the darkest day of my life My mother's passing has thrust me into more pain than flesh and blood can bear. This can't be happening ... it just can't be true. I cry continually murmuring, "No, No, No, No, No" I want to scream it but I have this strange sense around me that the rest of my family is sad but coping. I feel like I've lost my pupose for living and all I want to do is die.

When I arrived at the hospital everyone was in the lobby, I'm not sure why they weren't with Mama. I remember everyone hugging me, all of us crying. Bob, my brother-in-law, hugged me and I was surprised. Vince, my nephew hugged me the tightest and the longest. I didn't believe I could be in any more pain than I already was but hearing his sobs and feelings his body tremble against mine doubled the pain of my breaking heart. Nita told me that Mama was in complete kidney failure and that they were going to try dialysis. Then they were going to take her to surgery and find out what was causing the pain in her abdomen. She told me to prepare myself because seeing Mama in ICU would be disturbing and she didn't want me to be alarmed.

When we entered Mama's room she was hooked up to multiple machines. She had patches on her eyes because she had been unable to close them and they were becoming dry. She was virtually in a drug induced coma. She looked so tiny and frail. I'll never know if she knew I was there but Nita had told her the day before that I was flying out and although Mama couldn't talk she indicated that she was pleased. I leaned in close to my mother, kissed her cheek and told I was there. My sister, on the other side of my Mama was also holding her hand and said that Mama squeezed her hand at that moment. I spoke to her again hoping that she would squeeze my hand as well but she didn't respond. The doctor said it was probably a reflex but I pray that she heard me and knew I was there.

My sister had told me that the last time she saw Mama awake that Mama was terrified. Nita said she had never seen anyone look so terrified. This memory haunts my sister and though I didn't witness it, it haunts me as well.

I leaned in close to Mama again. I whispered in her ear. I told her how much I loved her. Told her that she had been a good mother. Told her that every exceptional thing I am was instilled in me by her. At one point I sang softly to her, "His Eye Is On The Sparrow". I tried not to cry but couldn't stop the tears. I wanted to tell her, "Please, Mama, please don't leave me. Please hang on, Mama, don't go... don't go." Finally they asked us to leave so they could try the dialysis. I didn't want to leave, I wanted to stay with her, I wanted to spend every moment I could with her but instead I did as I was told/asked ... being led here and there not knowing what to do with myself.

Flip, Nita and I went to the cafeteria and they implored me to eat. I did but was thinking all the while about going back upstairs. Nita said they would call us before they took her into surgery but later on we would learn that they had taken her straight to surgery instead.

After we finished eating we were going to go outside and smoke and that's when we ran into Cousin Tony and then saw Aunt Vee, my mother's sister & her husband (can't remember his name). First we went outside and then we sat in the lobby, waiting for David.

When David arrived all the hugging and crying started again. Although my brother and I had been quarreling lately we still greeted each other lovingly ... this was not the time to be holding grudges, it was the time for us to come together. We all went upstairs and found out that they had taken Mama straight into surgery after the dialysis so we went to the ICU waiting room. I felt scared, confused and I didn't know how to tell anyone. I wanted to beg someone in my family to help me but I didn't have a clue how anyone could.

When Dr. Lewis came out Nita and Flip were the first to reach him. As I was approaching I heard the word "dead" and I gasped. When I reached them they told me that when they opened Mama up that her bowels were completely dead and there was no way to save her. He told us that Mama had severe Vascular Disease as a result of her diabetes. This came as a shock because although we knew that Mama had diabetes she took very good care of herself. Although mom had complained about pain in her legs and her stomach troubling her regularly her Primary Care Physician never tested her circulation which is fairly standard procedure for diabetics. He always told Mama that her aches and pains were age related and that she was fine ... that she would live to be a hundred. We feel certain that if he had tested Mama this would have been caught in time and Mama would still be here with us today. This is hardest for me to accept.

(As I write this I'm crying. The pain in my chest is so sharp I can barely breath ... this truly is more pain than flesh and blood can bear. What am I going to do I wonder ... I'm not sure I'm going to survive this and at this point I'm not sure I want to.)

I remember feeling like I was going to pass out and looking back and forth at Nita and Flip. I was lost, not knowing what to do.

After they brought her back to ICU they let us spend more time with her until we gave them the word to take her off the machines. The doctor said she was already gone -- with no pulse and no blood pressure. She was still on the respirator which gave the appearance that she was still with us. Nita said that they may have done that to make it easier for us to say goodbye. We all said our goodbyes. I leaned in close again and kissed her ... she felt chilled to me but still warm, still alive. I buried my face in her hand and cried. All of a sudden there was an excrutiating pain in my stomach, my knees gave out on me and I nearly collapsed on the floor. Flip caught me and asked me if I was okay. I knew I was going to be sick. Flip guided me to the trash can near the bed; I threw up.

I remember Nita saying that she wasn't going to make the decision alone to have the machines disconneted. We all agreed that it shouldn't be prolonged. We left the room while they removed the machines and cleaned Mama up. Once back in the room it was very strange. Everyone said goodbye to Mama one more time. I turned to Flip and told him I wanted to hold Mama -- he helped me climb up on the bed. I curled up next to Mama and held her; put my head on her shoulder. I cried -- I wanted desperately to feel her arms around me again. I wanted to take her arm and place it across my shoulder but I was concerned that sooner or later everyone would think I was going too far. As I lay next to Mama I could feel her growing colder. As my face lay next to hers I could see the muscles in her face surrendering to gravity. Less and less she looked like my Mama yet I was still unable to leave her. We had to wait to sign papers and have Mom's things brought from the vault. I was grateful because everyone seemed to be settling down some and talking and the more they were engaged in conversation then the less they would focus on me as I lay next to our mother's body. After everything was done I heard someone say it was time to go. I didn't want to leave Mama. I know she was no longer with us, that I lay next to the vessel that had once held her soul, yet I couldn't bear to leave my mother's body. I couldn't bear to think of her going down to the morgue and being alone. I didn't want to leave my Mama alone ... it was too much to bear. I remember thinking that nothing mattered anymore, they were going to have to force me to leave Mama -- pry me away from her because I was going to resist. A small and distant voice in me told me that there was still much ahead of us and I didn't want to hurt anyone or upset anyone ... I felt I had already made more of a scene than my family would have liked. I finally left my mother's side ... I wanted to throw up again.

Nita handed me the envelope from the vault with Mama's jewelry in it. I remember thinking that I had told Mama that it would mean a lot to me to have something she wore everyday but I didn't want to think about ever getting it. Now all her jewelry was in my hand ... how had this happened?

When we left the hospital Nita, Tara, Vince and I were waiting outside. There had been some tension between Nita and Vince in recent months. I watched as my sister and her son embraced ... brought together by their grief. I imagine that maybe Vince seeing his mother lose her mother made him sad for her but also made him think about how awful it is to lose a mother. As they embraced and cried I cried as well. Mama would have loved that they were reconciled. She would love that it was her doing.

There were many reunions during Mama's final weeks, many quarrels and past wrongs not just put aside or forgotten, but forgiven. Unfortunately, that day I lost more than anyone can imagine. I lost my mother and my faith ... later on that week I would also lose my older brother as the tension between us came to a head and our tenusous relationship collapsed under the weight.

I feel so lost. I find it impossible to even find the words to pray. And I feel guilty too because I'm so mad at God for allowing this to happen, if there even is a God. I know Mama wouldn't want me to agonize so but I can't seem to help feeling alone in this world without the person who loved me most in the world. Again, so very selfish of me.

I keep trying to hang on, one day at a time. I brought home the clothes Mama wore to the hospital and her purse

-- all of which still smells like her. It all feels so unreal yet so painfully real. I can only hope that somehow I can crawl out of this dark place and live the life Mama would have wanted me to. For now I feel like I'm losing my mind and ALL I WANT IS MY MOMMY!!!!!!!!

About 10 years ago Mama sent me an "Ann Landers" clipping that quoted a poem called "Success" by Ralph Waldo Emerson. She said it was her favorite poem and hoped to accomplish those things in her life time. For her seventy-fifth birthday I designed, cross stitched and framed it for her. She often told me she wanted to have it read at her memorial service. I was afforded the honor of doing so on June 31, 2003. I believe that she accomplished all the things mentioned in the poem and so very much more. It read as follows:

"To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends; To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others; To leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived... this is to have succeeded."

If I accomplish even a fraction of the things Mama has in her lifetime I will have achieved success.

** Note: There are many versions of this poem and most of them are incorrectly attributed to Emerson. A recent search on the internet revealed the poem is not by Emerson but a woman by the name of Bessie Anderson Stanley. She entered the poem in a contest in 1904 and won $250.00 which paid off the mortgage on her house among other things!!! Mama would have loved that fact -- another strong woman "making due" and succeeding! More about Bessie and her timeless poem Robin's Web - The Truth Behind "Success"

Precious Mama,

I miss you so desperately. The emptiness of this life without you is vast and all consuming. I cry an ocean of tears and drown in my own sorrow. If only I could find my way to you I would leave today for without you here it's too painful to stay.

My heart is shattered and every shard aches like a full greiving heart. Without you I'm alone and lost. Everyone else seems capable of moving on but I can't get past the pain -- it blocks the path to anywhere other than despair.

You no longer have to endure the hardship of what was your life but I wish with all my heart that I had not been left behind. This world is too harsh and cruel to live in without your love. Please, Mama, if there is life after death, guide me to your side.

I love you, Mama.

With every fiber of my being,

from the bottom of my tortured heart,

to the depths of my shattered soul,

I love you and miss you.

How am I supposed to live without you?

With all my love ...

Your Friday's Child ... Your Troubled Child

If there are angels then surely they must be weeping ... weeping that the world has lost such a gentle soul ... weeping because she suffered so ... weeping because I cannot stop weeping ... weeping because they know I want to be with my mama and only death will take me there. They weep because they know that if I believed that by killing myself I would be with my mother I would do so without hesitation ... they weep because they know I no longer believe.

I weep every day, sometimes screaming at the top of my lungs into a pillow or sitting on the shower floor sobbing with the water running as hot as I can bear it. I don't expect it to come but it always does. Sometimes just a subtle reminder will bring the tears ... other times it's a full blown memory. Today I had to remove the polish from my last pedicure ... the pedicure I had done several days before Mama's service. Then I remembered when Nita (my sister), my mother and myself all went together to get pedicures. Mama couldn't stop herself from giggling. It made us all laugh ... we had no idea she was so ticklish. Her laugh was young and girlish and she put her hand to her mouth like she was embarrassed. At first the memory made me smile and then the tears came. Every single day one thing or another will remind me of Mama -- dozens of times a day I think of her and always it reduces me to tears.

I am at a loss to understand how anyone survives the loss of a loved one. We lost Daddy when I was twelve but somehow it was different. I suffered more the last time I saw Daddy, maybe somehow I knew it was the last time. But losing Mama is different. Perhaps it's because I was closer to Mama and maybe I was even closer to Mama because I grew up without my father. Mama knew I grieved for Daddy and it made her sad. The only time I ever made Mama cry we were talking about Daddy, how I never recovered from losing him and how much I loved him. It was at a time when I was financially comfortable. I wanted to do something special for her so I took her to England for a week. I can't remember why we were arguing although I'm sure I must have asked her one too many times not to trash my Dad. She lashed out at me; crying she said, "Maybe you'd love me as much as you love your father if I were dead!" I was so stunned I couldn't believe she would say such a thing. I thought that she might resent how I loved Daddy but I realized it was because she thought I didn't love her enough. We were both crying after that. I was in my 30s but I ran to her like a little girl, wrapped my arms around her and told her that she was my life ... that I couldn't bear to live without her and to please don't speak of dying. She forgave me almost immediately as I did her but I never forgave myself. Even after all the shameful things I've done in my lifetime, that was my biggest shame ... making my mother cry. Even years after, I apologized for that episode and she always assured me that she knew that I loved her.

I'm so tortured. I know that she knew I loved her but I wonder if she really knew how much she meant to me. Since losing Mama I feel as if I've lost my purpose, my reason for living. I'm not sure anyone really knew or could even really imagine how hooked into Mama I was. Am I feeling sorry for myself? Maybe. Afterall, Mama is no longer in pain, no longer tortured by the cruelty of live, no longer insecure. I shed many tears knowing that Mama was enduring such unhappiness and I was powerless to do anything to make her life better. Now the tears flow from the anguish of being left behind. How totally selfish of me and I wonder if that smacks of narcissism.

I'm well aware that others are suffering but they seem capable of carrying on. I on the other hand live in the shadows of my sorrow. I'm able to "act" as if I'm okay but inside my soul is splintering. With all my might I try to disguise that my heart is breaking, my stomach is churning and the lump is my throat is threatening to gag me. When I'm alone the grief swallows me whole and I cry for hours on end. Late at night when everything is quite my diseased brain keeps playing my mother's tearful, pain-filled voice over and over in my head. Nightime ... it's the worst time.

Who am I kidding? Every day is worse than the next. It's a struggle to get up every day, shower, dress, clean house, do the laundry, cook, grocery shop ... even small tasks become monumental and impossible to begin let alone complete. I keep going only because I have to. I have a responsibility to the relationship that I'm in to continue to "be present". I wonder if he would still love me if he knew that my heart just isn't in it right now. I love him deeply but I don't want to take care of myself right now let alone anyone else.

Today is Sunday and that feeling of impending doom wells up in my stomach as Monday approaches. It was a Sunday night that I last spoke to Mama ... when I last heard her tiny voice, tearful and wracked with pain. It was a Monday that my sister called me and told me I needed to go home because Mama was critical. Tuesday was the day I flew to California to see my mother for the last time. Because there are certain things I do every Monday I remember every Monday the horrible feeling I had when I woke up that day and hearing the crushing news that Mama was critical. As I said, every day is hard but Monday and Tuesday are particularly painful. Honestly I'm surprised that I don't feel like drinking, getting loaded or self-mutilating. Then again, I know that acting out would be a stupid thing to do and those things no longer are viable options ... what's the point?

I wish I knew why I'm like I am ... why am I incapable of being like other people? Why can't I quit crying. How will I ever learn to live in a world without my mother?

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares." - Henri Nouwen -

"Don't cry."

"Be Strong."

"Your mother wouldn't want you to be so upset."

"Crying won't bring your mother back."

"You love this drama. You're gearing up to grieve for the rest of your life."

"Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah...."

STOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Do they think it helps when they tell me that bullshit? Don't cry? Are you insane? Be strong? Oh, okay, I should have thought of that. Mama wouldn't want me to be upset? Wrong again .... maybe Mama wouldn't want me to be so upset but she would understand my sorrow, she's lived it herself. Crying won't bring her back? How profound! Oh, okay, what was I thinking? Let me just reach inside and flip off that "Cry" switch. I love the drama? Sure, I've been waiting all my life to lose my mother so I could play the award winning role of my life. Gearing up to grieve for the rest of my life? Gearing up for it? No. Grieve for the rest of my life? Probably ... life has forever changed for me, I've changed ... I can't imagine ever not feeling anguished by my mother's passing.

Y'all know exactly what to say, don'tcha?

Well I have something to say too.

Show me your PhD or SHUT THE F**K UP!

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