Asskicka circa 2000
I'm alive.
My Mother is not, she passed last May and I still haven't processed that.
The Canadian Royal Mounted Police took my smile, my confidence and damaged my children and husband forever when five of them bust into our home on a mental health check and took me out in a spit hood after beating me unconscious. It will be three years on May 26th... I couldn't tell you which day my Mom died, all I know is numbed the pain to the best of my ability in the days to come.
There has been highs and there has been lows and I need to write.
I am going to write a book. It will be called "Roadtrips with Mom"... half will be growing up with a wildly bi-polar and emotionally unhealthy parent and our many adventures... the second will be trying to raise four children of my own. Which has broken my heart as I know my Mom's was broken as well.
I'm finally myself more days than not. I think, anyways. It's been a long road and I am not the person I was when co-vid hit 2020. She's so lost in the mosh.
Next up we have the final stage of my smile reconstruction, a bitter silence from my oldest son and nothing but shreds left of my own maternal family... my sister, a few nephews.
Through my trauma work I uncovered a dirty family secret about little Me.
Just like old times, this post was inspired by a song... two in fact; that played back to back tonight in the gym... Breathe by Pearl Jam (Mom) and Wish you were here by Pink Floyd (Dad). Are those fuckers reunited out there?
Damn.
Did I say that I need you?
Did I say that I want you?
What if I did and I'm a fool you see
No one knows this more than me
I come clean
Nothing you would take
Everything you gave
Hold me 'till I die
Meet you on the other side