I’ve been binge watching Murder She Wrote for a while now. There are 264 episodes and at least one person was murdered on each episode, sometimes more than one. That means that over the course of 12 years (the shows run) over 264 people were murdered somewhere near Jessica Fletcher.
If I was that woman I’d think I was cursed. I’d develop a freaking complex. I’d lock myself away from the rest of society.
I. Would. Flip. Out.
My hat is off to this crazy, old English teacher from Maine for keeping her crap together when people are dropping like flies all around her.
I haven’t posted a thing on here in a million years.
I tried so many times.
But I just couldn’t.
My mom was sick. She was in a nursing home, dying from colon cancer that had metastasized to her liver and lymph nodes. I wanted to write posts but whenever I tried to think of something to write, the only thing I could think of was my mom. And I didn’t want to write about mom.
All I ever did was talk about mom. For months. Every conversation left me raw. So I just couldn’t talk about her on here too.
She passed away in April of this year. And I’m still thinking about it all the time. Last night I even dreamt that she was still alive. I told her that everyone thought she was dead, that we’d had a funeral for her. She just smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders.
My mom and I had a complicated relationship. Saying that she drove me crazy is an incredible understatement. But that hasn’t stopped me from missing her. And I do.
But somehow, tonight, as I’m writing this, I feel ok. I don’t know when or if I’ll ever post again but I feel ok about posting this.
I miss my mom. I really do. But I’m gonna be ok.