Hey, Miss J!

Pain is a large part of my existence.

Today it was worse.

I’m not exactly sure what I dreamed of, but I felt as if my left shoulder had been stomped on overnight… for hours.

When I felt this on the right side, I wanted to cry because the cramping in my ribs coincided with the pain in my back on that side.

Is it a kidney?

Is it infection?

Have I finally pushed my body to the point that it is giving up?

Already?

I’m not 40 yet, but some days, I really wonder what I’ll feel like then…

… If this is my reality now.

I had a very interesting conversation with a friend of mine. I could tell she was disturbed by the lack of decoration in my home.

When my grandma was alive, there were things all over the walls, but after I lost her first – then my granddad – all of that stuff came down. I have a lone image up in my bedroom… a picture of my mom.

I can lean back behind my desk, look at it and try to remember what it was like when it was taken. Over the course of time, I’ve forgotten the year, but I do know she was smiling.

She had the biggest gap-toothed smile. It lit up her whole face. Sure, we had problems… terrible ones. I still have mental and emotional damage from our relationship over the first two decades of my life. The longer time stretches on though… the less the bad memories hurt.

The more I ache to see her again. Just to have one of her python hugs, share cake with her or any food at all really.

Her hands were so soft. I’ve tried to explain it before… that it was like warm butter, but I don’t think that explains just how nice her hands felt.

Yes, we argued over fruit, but because she wanted battered, fried fish and not fruit. And I just wanted her to try to eat healthy.

Ironically, the cause of her death was heart disease…

I have an old recording of her that I saved from voice mail.

I though that the passage of time was so great that I forgot what she sounded like.

I didn’t. She sounded so hurt and broken in the call. So small and defenseless.

I found myself yelling during the call, wondering if I’d ever called her back. Wondering why I never picked up the phone when she called. It’s strange how swiftly things change.

It was stupid. I can’t go back in time and shake myself. I can’t tell my past self to forgive.

I’m just glad that the relationship we had when she died was a good one. It was odd, quirky even, but that’s just how it was.

At the end of the day, she was still my mom. Her picture is literally the largest piece of artwork in this house (out of two total art pieces throughout the house). And yes, I would definitely call her photo art.

I always tell my friends that I inherited my good looks from my mom.

And it’s true.

Especially when I smile.

~J. Lyst