Irreplaceable. You only have one Mom- Oh… Wait…

That’s bullshit. I think I’ve gotten on that phrase before. It’s such a stupid thing to say. A guilt-diverting, dismissive little assholish thing to say.

Now, I love my mom more than most people. Pretty sure she’s in the top five of people I wouldn’t mind, ever, living forever. Someone who I fervently hope would die after me, somehow, someway. Someone who I hope for that, if any god was real, that would let my mother into heaven or whatever she wants that the god is able to do. Someone who I will give my ability to walk or hear just so she will stop having those debilitating migraines that make her completely unable to function- migraines which the government says she can still work around, denying her medical benefits and the like as she suffers from the pain- which sometimes triggers unconsciousness AND amnesia- and the limitless boredom she must endure because she can’t do a damn thing, nor does she have the money for anything grand.

She is one of the leading factors for my atheism. Her cherry-picked notions of the Bible and god steadily drove me away from all faith. Her belief in ghosts (and blaming any oddities I see on my mental health) and ‘too many coincidences’ had me finally realizing that most of it was probably made up. Add in that she still says stuff like “Well, everyone has off days” when a topic on depression happens, while later crying to Momo about how almost sinfully bored and unhappy she’s been with her life- while high on weed- and I’ve come to the conclusion that she can make silly judgments on very real feelings.

Her cooking is wonderful. (Duuuurrrrr) But our oven is broken, so a lot of my favorite foods have been sidelined for months. Oh, cornbread, where art thou? I think her cooking is so wonderful, that she can cook it and fill herself on the fumes. Seriously, she does very little exercise- like, none at all. And I doubt her metabolism is top rate, since she’s had problems with her weight most of her life. But she still looks great- and I hope I look like her when I’m forty… forty-three? Forty-six?

Awful daughter. That’s me.

Growing up, and Pa would lose control so many times, I remember her going into her room to ignore everyone and everything. As much as she said that Pa wasn’t upset when he was screaming at us, or patting us on the head saying that he loves us when he says things like ‘stupid look on your face’, or saying that she’s the queen and Pa’s the king of the household and we’re all serfs- she was quick to make like Casper when things got rough. And when we fought back, when my brother grabbed a knife, or my sister bit down into the arm that Pa had wrapped around her neck, that’s when she’ll hurry. To save Pa, like he was in danger.

She was the one to yell at Dad when he called me crazy. Rolling her eyes at him when he got all stupidly defensive as if he was the one ridiculed. She was the one to sharply call out his name whenever he referred to the mental hospitals as looney bins or nuthouses. She was the one to convince me that my bipolar disorder was definitely an illness a long time in development. She was the one to offer meditation since I was an atheist and prayer wasn’t an option.

She is the one to suddenly grab me and rock me like a baby. To give me the last sip of her sodas, to buy me a Dr. Pepper or Twix as I’ve always asked for so, so, so many years. To make beef stew when I come home, and when I went away. To fry chicken breast when I was feeling down. To talk to me about things bothering her.

The one to say she wasn’t hungry after buying everybody meals at McDonald’s or Sonic or even a diners like Waffle House or Denny’s. To say she’s fine, when she’s not, so, so, so, so many times.

She is the one where much of my liberal leanings come from. Her years on welfare, her nonchalant attitude to those who are on welfare, her cocky openmindedness towards those of different faiths, no matter how crazy. Her generosity towards anyone in need. Her strident disapproval on all those preaching the love of Jesus Christ and showing none of that in the actions.

When she checks on me every once in a while. When she takes a small bath so that I can get more hot water.

When she gives [THAT SISTER] one more chance… and another… and another… And her no-good ex as well, and his mother.

When she says that she can’t in good conscience tell anyone that she’s let to to repay her.

When she is fighting for the custody of my niece.

When she fights off yet another migraine, and says she’s okay, and that she loves me, and smiles when I say I love her back, soooooooooo much.


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