For the second year in a row I was unsure how to approach this topic. When one of the next things I plan to post on this blog is about how I think a popular 90s song is about blow jobs how do I cover such a sensitive subject as I plan to today?
Today is the two-year anniversary of my mother’s death. In this time I’ve had time to experience everything there is to when you lose someone. I’ve felt sadness, anger, and most of all annoyance at everyone else for a million difference reasons. I’m saving my rant on how most people come off as complete idiots when death is involved for something else. I’ll just say the best thing I feel I’ve ever written is based on this terrible thing that happened to me. I entered it into a contest so cross your fingers they’re not looking for an Asian woman to win like so many other contests are. Diversity can bite me.
(This is one of the first pictures that comes up when searching for diversity. Look who’s missing. The inventor of the light bulb, the car, the airplane, the telephone, the computer, every founder of America, a lot of great people, etc. Why are white males the bad guys now?)
I don’t bring this up for sympathy (okay, maybe a little). I bring this up because it feels strange not to acknowledge. I have also met so many other people through this blog in the last year and it’s always a weird thing to bring up. I almost always try to tell anyone new I meet that I no longer have a mother because eventually it will come up. Indeed I have been guilty of making it more awkward than it had to be. What can I say, I enjoy making people think I hate them.
I could go on forever about my reaction, experiences, and whatnot from the day of, the days that followed, up until now. It’s something I think about almost every day. It’s not so much a sad thing anymore. It’s just something that happened that I can never change or live regretting having done things differently. Her death happened sudden and unexpected which I won’t say is harder, but the shock takes a while to wear-off. And no, she was not shot. Would I have really titled this bullet points if she had been?
With all that said here are some random bullet pointed memories I have of my mom. They’re all nice ones. Today’s not a day to behave like a huge dick, maybe only an infant penis.
(He was very offended by my comment. Or she was. I don’t know. All babies look-alike)
-I was so fat when I was younger my mom would put my baseball uniform over the back rest of her rocking chair to stretch it out. They didn’t make baseball uniforms big enough for my fat boy’s body. We had to improvise.
-I was still so fat when I was younger my mom had to improvise once again when in 5th grade we were given orange safety patrol sashes to wear. Safety patrol was a program the 5th graders were involved in where we did things like collect morning attendance or do the announcements. I’m not sure what my job was. I faked sick the day we selected so I never had to do anything. Anyway, my mom asked the school for a second safety patrol belt so I could actually fit in it. She somehow programmed it so it was now larger and her fat son could appear more normal.
(Like this except orange and close to 100 pounds bigger)
-To get me to stop biting my nails (which I don’t do, I pick them) my mom would take away my action figures (we called them guys) and put them in something called Guy Jail. Guy Jail was usually a box. She would check my hands once a week and if they didn’t look improved she would take some of them away. She only did this once, most of the time they were hollow threats. I remember crying so hard when I saw Foot Soldiers from the Ninja Turtles falling into a box that used to hold a window fan.
-My mom was not very athletic as most straight mothers tend to not be. Still, she would go out in the backyard with me sometimes and throw a tennis ball to me. Most of my spring, summer, and autumn afternoons/days were spent throwing a tennis ball against our back wall imagining out an entire fictional baseball league. She hated how throwing the ball against the wall would break the shingles so she got involved.
-For over a year my mom and I would watch Jeopardy together and keep score. We got so into it she bought me the video game. The problem with the video game was she couldn’t figure out how to type her answer. It was very aggravating having to type it out for her. I felt like I was helping the enemy.
(I thought video game graphics were supposed to be good. Does Alex Trebek really look like this now? He looks terrible)
-My mom only got to see me perform stand-up comedy once for some reason. I think she was afraid I might not feel comfortable. It was one of my first times on stage and it went very well. She enjoyed it despite the fact I was so green all I talked about were dicks and shitting on people.
-The last time I saw my mom alive was when she came to my work to give me new bed sheets and a mattress pad. The mattress pad is waterproof and because of this she put it in a bag so no one would see. She figured my coworkers might think I wet the bed. I have those bed sheets on my bed right now. She’d be very upset how much they are due for a wash.
(LEGO Jesus walking on water. I forget how this was relevant but it’s awesome)
There are a lot more memories, but you get the point. The saddest thing about losing someone is all you have left are the memories and there are never any new ones. The best thing you can do is build up as many memories as you can. Write them down, share them with others, and never forget how even when everyone else seems to be against you that there still are a few people who care, support, and love you more than you will ever comprehend.
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