Keep the Car Running

  I yearn for the lost maternity. My mother's mother used to appear nightly the moment I drifted from consciousness, to remind me who I am. She's gone. Or have I just lost sight of her? I've lost sight of myself. I'm beside myself. I'm outside myself. I'm out of my mind. With grief. It's mind-blowing how easily I'm blindsided by the loss of you.

   My violently atheist beliefs deteriorate under the pressure of your ghost. I know you're out there. I know you're waiting and watching and loving us still. I can't bear to believe anything else. And where would you go? You'd stick around just to spite us; just to prove me wrong. I still can't wrap my head around the idea that you didn't conquer death; it seemed so inevitable that you would bulldoze it, through the sheer strength of your wicked, awe-inspiring will. I'll never feel complete without you.

   My mother promised me when I was little: "At my funeral, I'll be there. I'll tickle your arms and pull on your hair and kiss your nose." I knew she meant it but at the same time, I knew it wasn't true. This was the first time I was ever faced with the idea that truth might be relative. 

   I thought things were absolute then: truth, love, trust, wrong, right. I was well into childhood before I realized they are concepts that are all aqueous. And amorphous. I still grapple with relativity. And definitions.

  I'm rambling now, and none of this is cohesive. I'm sorry darlings. Perhaps I'll be more focused tomorrow.


   PS: WTF Blogger? What is this baby sized font? I keep setting it to "normal" and it's all "I do what I want. And I want this blog post to be all little letters!"