By my side

Today marks the third year of my mom’s death. I’ve been living without my muse for three years, three years, it sound like so long to me, yet feels so short.
She truly was my muse. I look back at all the things I did, the crazy schedule I kept while taking care of her and realized, it was because it was for her, to make her proud and be a good daughter. And that I was, while she was living. Since she’s been dead….I’ve been the world’s worst daughter. But in a comical way. Tonight my brother and I were even teling each other “your momma” jokes. Let’s see, in the three years since the death of my conversative mother I have: called her an enema at her funeral, forgot her in a hotel room, dropped some of her on the floor and then vacuumed her and had her name tattoo’ed on my foot. Well, actually the last one is kind of sweet, except that she wasn’t too fond of my first tattoo so that probably wasn’t the best way to pay tribute to her.
What am I saying? Shoot, what am I thinking? What have I accomplished in the last three years to make her proud? And why does that matter so much to me? My father is still here, and I have his love and his blessing and concern in everything I do. Why do I feel I have a secret mission that I’m supossed to accomplish for her?
Actually this Vendetta shall we? Has subsided since last year. Now, I suppose that instead of feeling like she’s this ghostly figure above me that I need to sacrifice a small rodent for, I guess thsi year, I feel as if she’s right beside me, right by my side. And that I should have better stories to tell her while we chat.

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  • Metamorphosis