Dearest Readers,
January 14 has been a difficult time for me for some number of years (7 to be precise). I was sitting in a shitty part of southern California in an anonymous long-term hotel watching a Chargers team blow yet another playoff game when my phone started going off. It was MLK weekend and I had Monday off. Not sure why that made any difference, but I was sad, angry about being away from the former BQoM, away from the greatest cat in the history of domestication, depressed about what I was doing, but the phone kept ringing. So I answered when my brother's name popped up.
BKoM: Hey, what's going on?
Brother: Um, Mom died about 10 minutes ago.
BKoM: What?! This shit isn't funny. Fuck you.
Bro: I'm not kidding. I'm sorry man, she's gone (he is openly sobbing now).
BKoM: FUCK YOU. NO SHE IS NOT.
Bro: I'm sorry, but they thought you would take it better from me than anyone else.
BKoM: Bullshit, you are lying. (putting foot through TV).
Bro: you know I would never joke about something like this.
BKoM: What am i supposed to do?
Bro: Never. Just come home.
Well, there was an ice storm in the home town that weekend, so no flights going in or out. I finally made it home a day later after spending the night at the airport on a cot. I don't remember the funeral all that well, other than holding my cousin tightly and telling him to love his mom every day, because "you don't ever want to do this fucking shit. it hurts".
Today is 7 years since I lost my mom. It's also 7 years since i did about $1200 worth of damage to a SoCal hotel room. To this day I am left with anger and frustration. All the things to say, and, more importantly, all the things left unsaid.
Sorry, Mom. I hope I make you proud. I miss you daily and love you more than you ever knew. I hope you are better off now than when you were here.
I hate this day.
As always,
BKoM
January 14 has been a difficult time for me for some number of years (7 to be precise). I was sitting in a shitty part of southern California in an anonymous long-term hotel watching a Chargers team blow yet another playoff game when my phone started going off. It was MLK weekend and I had Monday off. Not sure why that made any difference, but I was sad, angry about being away from the former BQoM, away from the greatest cat in the history of domestication, depressed about what I was doing, but the phone kept ringing. So I answered when my brother's name popped up.
BKoM: Hey, what's going on?
Brother: Um, Mom died about 10 minutes ago.
BKoM: What?! This shit isn't funny. Fuck you.
Bro: I'm not kidding. I'm sorry man, she's gone (he is openly sobbing now).
BKoM: FUCK YOU. NO SHE IS NOT.
Bro: I'm sorry, but they thought you would take it better from me than anyone else.
BKoM: Bullshit, you are lying. (putting foot through TV).
Bro: you know I would never joke about something like this.
BKoM: What am i supposed to do?
Bro: Never. Just come home.
Well, there was an ice storm in the home town that weekend, so no flights going in or out. I finally made it home a day later after spending the night at the airport on a cot. I don't remember the funeral all that well, other than holding my cousin tightly and telling him to love his mom every day, because "you don't ever want to do this fucking shit. it hurts".
Today is 7 years since I lost my mom. It's also 7 years since i did about $1200 worth of damage to a SoCal hotel room. To this day I am left with anger and frustration. All the things to say, and, more importantly, all the things left unsaid.
Sorry, Mom. I hope I make you proud. I miss you daily and love you more than you ever knew. I hope you are better off now than when you were here.
I hate this day.
As always,
BKoM
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