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| Every me, Every You 2001, November 11 - 2:57 p.m.
Today is rememberance day, and the season premiere of the Simpsons. Isn't that fascinating... I didn't have a moment of silence or anything though. I was asleep at the time. Yes, I'm still sick. I feel weak and shakey. A slight numbness in my chest; the kind that tells you that you had better not run or exert yourself or you will faint away on the spot. I feel a little miserable today. I can't help it. I want a hug. Brent hugs me all the time, but often his hugs aren't quite what I'm looking for. I want the sort of hug my mother used to give me. Yes, I miss my mom. I have learned how to live life without her, I had to, otherwise I may have gone insane. I have learned to talk about her in happy ways, I talk about her all the time; sometimes I think that my friends are tired of hearing about it. I have learned to cry about her every so often so that I do not suddenly explode. I have learned in all this that the pain does not ever entirely go away. That re-assures me and bothers me both. I have some pictures of her with me, both young and old. I have a picture of her before she had even planned my existance. It can be strange sometimes to look at it. She is 19. We look simliar. People have been telling me that more and more lately. They see her when they look at me. People who knew her treat me differently then they did before she died. They treat me more like an adult, like an embodiment of her, like the only part of her left. We sound a little similar too. I am my mother's daughter. I know now that a few people will be watching what I do with myself. Just to see what Jackie's daughter is doing. I am, in a lot of people's mind, her's. Her creation. What I do with myself now reflects my mother in ways that it wouldn't if she was still alive. It's just something that I feel. I really wish she were here. She was great to talk to. I pushed her away when I was younger, as any other teenager would have, but when she got sick I tried to bring her back in. I was so afraid she would die. Many times I was so terrified that I would ignore the possibility and just think that she would either go on being sick or get well. I mean, how could MY mother die? She was my mother afterall, things like that don't happen to me. I am invincible... Of course I was. Everyone that age is. It hurts to realize that you're not as untouchable as you once thought. There are reasons that charities exist. Other people were shocked to realize that these things can happen to them. So they retaliate against this horrible thing that ruined their life with money and walks for money and drives for money and so on. I bought daffodils for cancer last year. I felt a little satisfaction. Like I was giving cancer a small kick in the shin. As though it were a single living thing, infecting people at it's own whim. I don't know what I am writing. I barely know what I am thinking.. I am just recording my thoughts as they come to me. Just nonsense and letting my fingers type what they feel they should. Sometimes I don't even know I feel something. Sometimes I just need to write until I come across an emotion that was buried under stress or other unimportant concerns. I'm feeling it now. I feel left behind. Mothers aren't supposed to die. They are our proctectors, our worst enemies and our mirror into the future. They show us what we could be or what we don't want to be. They show us what is possible. I don't want to die. Not like her. I want to have children and see them grow up, I want to see my grandchildren. I want a full life. I want that for her, I want that for me... She didn't get it. she deserved it but didn't get it. What's in store for me? Thank You - 2006, June 7
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