things I have learned in 2021

I can't sentence structure, so list:

• I really should have backed up my PC ebook settings into a different folder before I uninstalled+reinstalled.
• Difficulty swallowing is a symptom of dementia.
• The Croods movies are surprisingly good.
• Funerals suck even harder when you're in the next-of-kin row.
• The old "I'm recovering from surgery" excuse only lasts until the next relevant person needs and gets surgery.
• I thought grief would feel like intrusive thoughts of sorrow, but it's mostly feeling like a thick, foggy static/panic that is hard to think through and also everything non-physically hurts.
• Dhalgren is confusing and long. No, like, way more confusing than you're imagining.
• Being a mom keeps getting harder. Always worth it, but ever harder.
• I do not like reading a book with death magic, finding death abruptly all to pertinent to my daily life, and finding that the next book on my to-be-read pile starts at a fucking deathbed. Do Not Want!
• I can't even fathom how much my mother must have done to help me throughout my entire life. So often, I didn't even see it. Now it's gone and I am at sea.

Stats:

• Percentage of household requiring emergency medical care in 2021: 100%
• Time since last crying jag: <1 hr

Found and reposted this and now I shall have a hard cry again before breakfast.

for my mother (repost)

(Originally posted June 25th, 2009, on LiveJournal.)

My mother.

I don't know where to begin to describe her. She's a lofty example to aspire to: an excellent cook; a careful, safe driver; the best mother I could have.

I mean that, though I'm not sure she quite believes me. There are other mothers who are better equipped to handle a child who is profoundly disabled, or to help a child discover disparate parts of their racial identity, or shield a child against paparazzi. But I am not any of those children. I don't need those particular protections. For who I am, I could not ask for a better mother. I would want no other mother.

She has embraced me when I was at my lowest ebbs and cheered me on toward my highest peaks. Somehow she still loves me, despite knowing me better than anyone else knows. I live in awe of her selflessness and compassion. She's more than just the best mother I could have: she is also my friend, one whom I prize.

There is not an inch of my skin that is not written with my mother's genes, not a memory in my head that is not somehow shaped by the way my mother raised me, and I know that I am much improved for it. If I am sometimes petty or cruel, it is in spite of her teaching and her example; she raised to me know better, although I sometimes shamefully ignore that. And if I am occasionally caring, diligent, or generous, it is because my mother taught it to me.

If girls learn to mother from their mothers, then I know that I would be a strong, loving mother. Following her example could achieve no less.

If I thought it would make my mother happy to hear me yelling her praises from the rooftops, I would do it even now, at three in the morning in the pouring rain and pounding thunder. My mother did teach me to be sensible, however; if I must yell, I will wait for a saner hour and a drier roof.

I wish that I could write her a poem declaring the wonder I feel for her, something beautiful and rhythmic and worthy of her. But my poetic talent is insufficient. Anything I write would not be good enough to adequately convey the way I feel. Even as I write this piece, I keenly feel its flaws, but I hope it conveys what I mean regardless.

Someday, Mom, I will get things collated into that poem you deserve. In lieu of that, you have my endless admiration.

I love you, Mom. Thank you so much for being Mom.