Unlike most people, I wasn't there when my mom took her last breathe. In fact, I don't even know when it exactly was. Because I didn't find her until 3 days later. Her death certificate says December 13. But it is actually 4 years ago today (December 10), that at some point, she wasn't here anymore. I wonder what I was doing. Where I was. What I was thinking. Whatever I was doing, I hoped it was that fucking important. That I wasn't there. For all the love that woman had in her heart for her family, it is disgusting she died alone. Not only alone, but that she actually thought she was better off gone.
I met with a good friend for coffee yesterday. Were both in our mid 30s, and we cannot believe how dumbfounded we have been to really see just how much shit we go through isn't "black or white". In fact, love, loss, relationships, friendships, dreams, goals, all happen in the dreaded grey area.
I think about vampires a lot. And any time I can be anything fictional, it is ALWAYS a vampire. After all, they know karate, wear leather, are rich as fuck, can kill you, and are immortal. But as I enter into my almost 35th year of life, I've only begun to understand how many moments of time I have squandered by not even being conscious they were HAPPENING. And that's where I think I have my true fasciation with vampires; they get as much time as they want.
My Italian grandparents are 84. They're from another world, and a different time. Both of which don'y exist anymore. They had their honeymoon in the mountains of Italy, at my Nonna's sister farm. She said it was the best two weeks of her life.
I wish I was more conscious of how unconscious I was when I was a kid lol. I honestly do not think I even thought of anything. I am 34 now, and I have been reflecting on my life lately. Especially because I am not technically where I "should" be (no house, kids, marriage, or steady career). I lost my mom when I was 30 to suicide and it wasn't until that profound moment that I really even began to THINK. I have actually tried to remember what I thought about when I was even 28 and I DO NOT REMEMBER lol.
This is me and my mom. In this photo she is very sick. But she doesn't look it right? That's the beauty of photos, they're a nano second of a moment in time. And that's also the bitch about mental health...you can't see it. I don't think even I wanted to know, or realize, just HOW sick she was here. She hid it well. Especially at this stage. Because this was after about ten years of sheer horror. She was so ashamed and guilty to show the true depths of the pain of she was dealing with.