May 9th, 2010

bathroom angel

I'm not really bitter, Mom.

I'm not bitter about my mother being dead today (and all the cultural things suggesting I call her or take her to dinner at a certain place or whatever). I said that to kercov in email the other day, but I was just in an ornery mood. The main bitter taste in my mouth when I think back and think of her being dead and gone is the flavor of regret for all that we couldn't, or didn't, work out between us, in time, while we were both alive. But there are satisfactions to the love that persisted between us, and I do well today to alight on those.

per·sist
1530–40; < L persistere lit., to stand firm permanently, equiv. to per- (through) + -sistere, akin to stāre to stand


Mom would have liked part of what I did yesterday, if not that it got so bad to begin with:

[stove before]   [stove before]


Why do I think she would? Collapse )