It’s the finality of it, all the questions I will never get to ask.
No, it’s the unfairness of it—waiting for the other shoe to drop, it started to rain shoes.
It was the coincidence, the irony, the reverb and sequence that was shocking.
Or it was the poignancy, the cruelty and obscenity, the horror.
Why her and why now? She remains a cloak wrapped around my brain. Every hour spent with her formed the basis of my ability to withstand the loss of her. How ironic that She is the reason I can live without her.
She was the leader, out in front, with no one to protect her, all of us behind, all of us injured, but She was confident that, injured or not, we could go on. She decided at the end that she may not want to—she hadn’t considered that, except theoretically.
Mental pain and suffering was her forte. She confessed to having no defense against physical pain and suffering.
She’s not suffering now, but I will miss her terribly. She was my second Mom and closest friend.
I dreamed I forgot to water my mums—both of them—both withered and about to die. I spill water all over the floor, a flood of tears I step in.
Dedicated to my therapist,
Marleen Josie Doctorow Ph.D.
February 15, 1947 – June 13, 2011