Ma is leaving us in bit pieces, days are falling from her, names are dissolving into particles she knows she’s tasted, but can’t place. She’s both trying to hide it, and begging us to notice, hinting herself away.
We’ve all felt sorry for ourselves in this, as if she’s doing it to get back at us, as if in our anger or disregard she will be whole instead of becoming transparent. Her hair is so white. Her skin so…
I felt it tonight, felt myself unzip from my sternum to my belly, felt the stuffing and the fluff just puff right out like packing material around a stretched and bloated water balloon the color of cinnamon candies.
Without Ma, my family of origin becomes nothing but a dissipating cloud after a storm. I’m lucky for a couple sisters, several nieces and nephews, but some won’t even notice she’s gone.
And that just pisses me off.
Ma is not a table to be left to you. She’s not a guilty hundred dollar bill stuck inside a card. Ma is not a holiday you call on the phone or a customer at the store you talk to once a week.
She is a mother. She creates worlds, and like it or not, she created 9 of them and let them go on the wind. She bled us out and here we are, screeching idiots too proud to go home.
So, what are we going to do about it? What are you going to do?