I acquired an email lately from somebody whose mother died. She realized I’d suffered the loss of my mother and needed some insight on how to deal with it. Sadly for her, I had no guidance…shit…I’m still dealing with it.

Every single day I think about my mother. I think about her living and breathing. Talking to me, laughing with me, yelling at me. But I never, ever think about her death. This email made me think of that so I began resenting that email. I began resenting that somebody else had to deal with a mother who was dead. And I truly resented that somebody believed I was an professional on dealing with dead moms. If you get to be an professional on anything…the last thing you want to be is an professional on dead moms.

When I clear my home, I keep in mind performing the same with my mother. Saturday was cleansing day and I usually equate lemon fresh Pledge with her. I think of my mother often. I miss her every single day. I discover myself wondering…I wonder what my mother would think of this duvet cover. Or I wonder what she would think of my efforts to create a stunning home. I know it’s weird that I know she’s gone but I do not wonder about her as if she’s dead…I wonder about her as if she’s still in Louisiana wondering what I’m performing too. I know…insane me.

Death is fairly permanent. It is as permanent as it will get actually. It is the finish. I like to think of my mother becoming everywhere. I do not like thinking of her as a skeleton in a casket beneath 6 feet of dirt on the side of an aged church in the nation. That is too permanent.

I did not have much to offer she-whose-mother-just-past. I do not know her that nicely so was unable to infer much. I provided what I could. A place to come and rest and just be with out the responsibility of dealing with death. Granted, with her in my home, in my area, in my world I…would have the responsibility of dealing with death. With personal death. With my permanent tragedy.

I invited her into my haven exactly where I am safe from all things painful and I helped her in a extremely small way deal with her mother’s death at the expense of my peace. She left yesterday and I turned to my guy and the normalcy of my existence to carry me back from my abyss.

I, Monica Lenay Pattan Mingo, a self-professed, uptight, prude bitch, permitted somebody to hurt me with out understanding because I realized how badly she was hurting. I did not feel a kinship with her. I just felt renewed in my personal, permanent pain, in my infinite grief. And I left understanding only one certain thing…I’m not reduce out to be a hero.

http://www.MonicaMingo.com