Early in the Morning - Peter Paul Mary

Hello lovers!

Today, unlike most of the world, I did not celebrate Easter. Yes, I did watch that episode of South Park that so wonderfully explains it, but I still have a lot of questions.

I, like the minority, was doing unceremonious activities. These activities include: watching a marathon of Mad Men (I'm in the third season), vacuuming, eating day old pizza, tweeting (on Twitter... pervs!), and watching Game Change. After game change, I don't think I'll ever be the same again... at least until I watch more Mad Men. God, I love that show!

Anyway... today is not a day I wish to celebrate. It was 18 years ago today that my mother passed away. I don't remember this because I was too young, but all I knew was that this month made me uncomfortable. She passed away on the 8th, and a week later, she was buried. I have never known how to feel about this. It's not like I knew her, remember her clearly enough to say she was the best person in the world. But then again, she was the mother I never had. Who knows how things would have been had she lived. I might not be here today...

The thing that sucks most about this is that there is no one who knew her who is willing to tell me about her. My father doesn't talk about her. Why should he? He didn't love her or was faithful to her. If he were to bring her up, I believe he'd piss me off to the point where I would punch him into next week. And, as for my sister, well the last time we were really talking about her I got all sad and depressed that I started crying. I don't know why I did that. I believe it's mostly because I was mad, and angry, and jealous that she had all these memories of her, while I had none. The only person I have had a detailed conversation about my mom has been my cousin, Alicia. Alicia is my favorite cousin; she is just... so awesome. Anyway, she told me what she could. But, since she really wasn't close to my mom, it's not like she spent hours talk to me about her. Small snippets of stories was all she could regale me with. For someone who hadn't had anyone talk about her deceased mother, it was a small balm to a wounded soul.

I'm not writing about this to depress you. I'm writing this because it needs to get out. But mostly because I feel ashamed. It was over 18 years ago that she died.

And it has been over 10 years since I've gone to visit her at the cemetery.

I find myself thinking about this more and more. And to be honest, this makes me feel like such a terrible person. It's not that I don't want to go. I would love to go, visit her, leave flowers, clear my mind. And I would. Except I have no means of getting there. And to make matters worse, her grave doesn't have a marker.

There is irony in all of this. I visit a cemetery on a daily basis, because I work at one; just not the one that she's buried at.

Since this is the year that everything will change (I'll explain later) I have proposed this to myself: before I get my next tattoo, I will go visit her grave. I will leave flowers. I can't promise more than that because I know that going there will break my heart. I will begin crying like there's no tomorrow. After all, she was the mother I never got to have.

I can't promise happiness kids, or great fortune. But I can remind you to be grateful for what you do have; there are plenty of people with much less.

Until next time...