Mom finally found a way

Mom finally found a way to kill herself. Years of chain-smoking paid off, and she died of lung cancer at 52. I was 19. I suppose it’s the only thing I really resent. On the other hand, she’d had a very hard life, and maybe it was best that it was over.

Still, I think she would have loved this world we live in now. She’d be in her late 60s now. I think she would have been able to come out of the closet, or at least be more comfortable with herself. I’m sure I could have got her hooked on e-mail and chat rooms. She’d be forwarding that same damned joke I’ve seen a thousand times somewhere else. I think that’s what hurts the most–that she was just beginning to blossom when she died. The death she’d spent decades nurturing was no longer what she wanted when it finally arrived.

I don’t know what happens when we die. Most of me suspects we are just done. Of course I wish it were different. I would love to think she’s still around somewhere–still with me in some way. I miss her. I always will.

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