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10 January 2009 @ 07:56 pm
22 years ago today...  
My mother took her life. I am not sure when, but the paramedics told me probably early morning around 6am. I was fairly alone through the whole thing, and it was only because of friends I survived at all.

Normally, I get through this day without much mishap. Sometimes I even forget it until days later. But today, it came at me from out of the blue. When I try and trace the brain threads activated by this, it was due to a recent memory about the movie, "Xanadu," hearing about Anya's mom is trying to do a book about her brother, and someone who visited today brought her teenage daughter, and I had no idea they were mother and daughter until the last moment. Not sure how they are related.

So I am playing ELO's, "Don't Walk Away," and crying because I am a sap.

I really wish I had a grave to go to or something. My mother would have been 70 this year. I know that her death gave me a kind of freedom that would not have been possible, and one of the few suicides that seemed like it helped more than fucked over loved ones. I also know her drinking and tranquilizer abuse had damaged her mentally, and I was taking care of her more and more, so if she was still alive today, she would probably be in a nursing home. And in theory, I'll get to see her again when my time to pass comes. I *know* of all this, folks.

I still miss her. So sue me.

I wish I had known her as an adult. Like one more day, at some sober point maybe in the mid 1970s, I could go back in time, show her photos of a grandson she never saw, introduce her to a wife I am so grateful to have married, tell her about the relatives in Sweden, ask questions about my family I have always wanted to know. I wanted to let her know I turned out okay, and actually fairly successful and social. I wish some of you could have met her. A few of my readers have. A very few remember her not as the neighborhood drunk, but knew her as children themselves. Just. one. more. day.

Sadly, many of these mental exercises still end in how I would have to tell her what happened and how I ended up this way, and I don't know how I could avoid it. This is the "time travel is not as great as you think it is" training of being a science fiction writer. You want to be all smiles and warm thoughts, but then how could I not be tempted to tell her, "Your husband is FAR more an asshole than even you or I thought at the time. You want to know how your funeral went? Sit down, because this is going to hurt." If one of you got visited by a grown child of yours at age 40, wouldn't you be curious about the sobbing? Or why your kid had to go BACK in time to introduce some of the people important in their life like a wife and son? You wouldn't have to be Dr. Fucking Who to figure out something very bad happened. I doubt an hour would go by before that became the elephant in the room, and the smell of peanuts and manure would be overpowering to the point of tears.

I guess part of me wishes I'd hallucinate and see her ghost and have some kind of closure. But in some odd way, the fact I *don't* see her ghost kind of validates the fact none of the other weird psychic shit I encounter almost daily is made up. I figure because if any of it was some strange subconscious projection to be "special" or whatever, seeing and communicating my mother's ghost would be top of my list. Those that have lost a parent or loved one know what I am talking about.

Anyway, to Gladys "Mama" Larson, I miss you. Many times I have missed you far too much to be reasonable, I am sure. Why 22 years is some magic number of years, who knows. I bet some astrologer or numerologist could whip something up. Double 11s, something.

Today is hard.
Eva Whitley: Familywouldyoueva on January 11th, 2009 02:17 am (UTC)
You might have other things going on with you this week to have this hit you hard.

Other than that, I can relate. My father died when I was 24, my mother died on my 33rd birthday. I would have loved to have had one sober day with my dad, just to know what CCC projects he worked on, just how did he become a hobo for a while? And to thank him and Mom for having high IQs, and marrying each other, so my sibs and I would have high IQs also.

I think he would have been fascinated by his old POW unit having a Web page.
gypsy_sylvin: Serenegypsy_sylvin on January 11th, 2009 02:22 am (UTC)
Internal Locust of Control: Huggy Snoopyapeyanne on January 11th, 2009 03:22 am (UTC)
Hugs to you.
Tiger: Red Rosedreamtigress on January 11th, 2009 05:43 am (UTC)
::hugs for you::

I know I'd be tempted to change things if I could go back in time to certain points. But then our lives would not be what they are now.
gorgeousgarygorgeousgary on January 11th, 2009 06:10 am (UTC)
shuttergalshuttergal on January 11th, 2009 08:11 am (UTC)
Condolences. There's no right ways to do these sorts of things. Be kind to yourself.
Merry Pseudonym: Candleamelia_eve on January 11th, 2009 12:44 pm (UTC)
I still miss my dad sometimes, and he died in 1972. It's a credit to you and to her that your relationship was so important. Hugs.
rmartin_justmermartin_justme on January 11th, 2009 02:17 pm (UTC)
I'm sorry for your loss. That you miss her and wish you could have closure despite your childhood is a credit to you. I'm sure she's proud of you.
(Anonymous) on January 13th, 2009 05:59 pm (UTC)
I will alway have good memories of your mom in my heart.

Mike D