Entry tags:
Loss of another kind
Fucked up that I can't even tell someone I considered my best friend for half my life that my mom is gone.
I don't know if I could ever believe they'd be sincere. They always "struggled with empathy," and for once I need this to be about me. If I got a lukewarm response or they tried to make this about themselves, I think I'd lose my mind.
I miss my friend, but at this point I think that person maybe never existed at all.
I just wish they'd ever been the person I thought they were.
I don't know if I could ever believe they'd be sincere. They always "struggled with empathy," and for once I need this to be about me. If I got a lukewarm response or they tried to make this about themselves, I think I'd lose my mind.
I miss my friend, but at this point I think that person maybe never existed at all.
I just wish they'd ever been the person I thought they were.
Entry tags:
Grief is just love with nowhere to go.
Tomorrow is one month since I saw her last.
I still can't fucking believe she's gone.
I'm not going to see her again.
Ever.
Not so long as I'm living.
I've had a few dreams by now that I've acknowledged her death in, so even my subconscious knows that's she's not here anymore.
I keep flashing back to how I found her, and I hate it. If there was any memory of this I could erase it would be that.
But how many times was I the one to find her in the worst position? How many times was I beside her when her body or mind failed? When she was sleep walking and about to set the house on fire? Or some weird side effect of her meds made her nod out while driving?
I was always witness to the worst.
I guess I can at least take solace in having seen her Alive, even if she wasn't well.
She didn't want to have an open casket because she didn't want the last memory anyone had of her to be what she looked like Dead. ...which was a good call. Because I didn't see it. And I'm at least grateful for that.
In the back of my mind I'd always wondered if I was going to find her dead one day. Luckily, that's not something I have to worry about anymore.
But, fuck.
I still thought I had a while before I *really* needed to worry about it.
I... This. Isn't real. It can't be. I don't know how it could be.
Every day I wake up and do the same thing, so much so that it's almost like nothing is different at all. Except for that *one little thing.*
Wake up in excruciating pain, eventually eat so I can medicate, scroll on my phone and dissociate while the meds kick in, decide what I'm going to do with my day, get up and make myself something to eat, think "I should call mom," remember that my mom is dead and I cannot in fact call her, go back to my bedroom and scroll on my phone again to take myself out of my reality again.
Every time I put my phone or my games down, I'm bombarded with reality. I hate it. I don't want this. I don't want to do this. I don't want this to be my reality.
I want to go back to two or three days before and force her to go to the hospital. I want to fix things. I want a do over, a reset, to reload my save and do it all over again. Fuck I'd start the whole game over.
Its not my fault. I know it's not. I still wish I could have done fucking anything.
I miss her. It's not fair. Despite it all, despite how hard things were for us, I know she loved me so much. And I loved her, too. Even when it was hard to.
Ugh.
Fuck.
I haven't slept yet. And I will. And I'll dream. And I'll wake up. And nothing will have changed. She will still be gone.
I heard someone say "Grief is just Love with nowhere to go." And every time I've thought of it since, it just brings tears to my eyes. I can't love anybody else like I love my mom. There is no replacing her.
Nothing will ever fill that hole in my heart.
I still can't fucking believe she's gone.
I'm not going to see her again.
Ever.
Not so long as I'm living.
I've had a few dreams by now that I've acknowledged her death in, so even my subconscious knows that's she's not here anymore.
I keep flashing back to how I found her, and I hate it. If there was any memory of this I could erase it would be that.
But how many times was I the one to find her in the worst position? How many times was I beside her when her body or mind failed? When she was sleep walking and about to set the house on fire? Or some weird side effect of her meds made her nod out while driving?
I was always witness to the worst.
I guess I can at least take solace in having seen her Alive, even if she wasn't well.
She didn't want to have an open casket because she didn't want the last memory anyone had of her to be what she looked like Dead. ...which was a good call. Because I didn't see it. And I'm at least grateful for that.
In the back of my mind I'd always wondered if I was going to find her dead one day. Luckily, that's not something I have to worry about anymore.
But, fuck.
I still thought I had a while before I *really* needed to worry about it.
I... This. Isn't real. It can't be. I don't know how it could be.
Every day I wake up and do the same thing, so much so that it's almost like nothing is different at all. Except for that *one little thing.*
Wake up in excruciating pain, eventually eat so I can medicate, scroll on my phone and dissociate while the meds kick in, decide what I'm going to do with my day, get up and make myself something to eat, think "I should call mom," remember that my mom is dead and I cannot in fact call her, go back to my bedroom and scroll on my phone again to take myself out of my reality again.
Every time I put my phone or my games down, I'm bombarded with reality. I hate it. I don't want this. I don't want to do this. I don't want this to be my reality.
I want to go back to two or three days before and force her to go to the hospital. I want to fix things. I want a do over, a reset, to reload my save and do it all over again. Fuck I'd start the whole game over.
Its not my fault. I know it's not. I still wish I could have done fucking anything.
I miss her. It's not fair. Despite it all, despite how hard things were for us, I know she loved me so much. And I loved her, too. Even when it was hard to.
Ugh.
Fuck.
I haven't slept yet. And I will. And I'll dream. And I'll wake up. And nothing will have changed. She will still be gone.
I heard someone say "Grief is just Love with nowhere to go." And every time I've thought of it since, it just brings tears to my eyes. I can't love anybody else like I love my mom. There is no replacing her.
Nothing will ever fill that hole in my heart.
Entry tags:
happy?? halloween??
its kind of hard for me to put away my....thoughts long enough to celebrate anything
im a semi-practicing witch though and ive been kind of floundering on whether or not i want to put something out for my mom.
i'm just not actually sure if i can handle that all right now. even if i could speak to her, i...dont know what i would say.
i got to learn some very interesting things about one of my ex best friends though and boy oh boy do i wish i could tell her about all of that. i also want to tell her that christina aquilera did cher from burlesque for halloween this year... she would have loved that so much. that was one of her favorite movies. 8')
but it kinda feels like Not A Lot to call her out of her recent slumber
shes just now getting situated, wherever she's at...
i dont know
ugh
im a semi-practicing witch though and ive been kind of floundering on whether or not i want to put something out for my mom.
i'm just not actually sure if i can handle that all right now. even if i could speak to her, i...dont know what i would say.
i got to learn some very interesting things about one of my ex best friends though and boy oh boy do i wish i could tell her about all of that. i also want to tell her that christina aquilera did cher from burlesque for halloween this year... she would have loved that so much. that was one of her favorite movies. 8')
but it kinda feels like Not A Lot to call her out of her recent slumber
shes just now getting situated, wherever she's at...
i dont know
ugh
Entry tags:
loss part 1 (i'll title this better one day)
all of my idle moments are just... remembering that she doesn't exist anymore.
for context, for those who may not know, if anybody is reading this at all...
my mom died october 15, 2023. which is still just absolutely wild to say. wild to think. wild that no matter how many times i say it out loud, it doesn't feel real. it doesn't feel true. it doesn't feel *possible.*
she was only 59. same age her dad was when he died. he died of lung cancer. she died of a MONTH LONG untreated bladder infection, leading to sepsis and a stroke. perhaps even a series of strokes. i'm still unclear on the timeline.
i'm... still mad at her for that. i'm mad at her for not telling anyone. i'm mad at her for prioritizing me over herself. i'm mad that she was so scared of running up yet another series of medical bills that she just let it go until it literally fucking killed her. i'm mad that our fucking healthcare system sucks so goddamn bad in this country that she had to choose paying for my health over her own.
i was already in birmingham to have my sciatica treated (they only gave me medicine for the pain, but no scans or tests, i was supposed to go back for that soon, but uh... i guess we're just gonna have to wait it out now. 8') sigh.) and i had already been there for ten days when she passed.
it started with a migraine.
her usual, monthly migraine.
she had always had migraines. they'd disable her for a few days and then they'd pass and she'd be up again. she's had those for MOST of my life, so really this was not an unusual occurrence.
day 1 of migraine passed, we thought nothing of it.
day 2, same old same old.
on day 3, my grandmother had gone over to my brother's house to watch his kids with my aunt. if mom hadn't been having her migraines, she would have been the one to do it instead since noah was out of town with his wife, finally getting to have the anniversary vacation they'd been trying to have for years! i was put in charge of feeding mom, giving her her meds and water. Of course she didn't want any, she always hated water. she wasn't eating, she wasn't hungry! still not unusual. i don't like to eat when i feel bad, either! but then... she started getting delirious.
at some point she'd come into my room to ask me if i had any cigarettes. i had to remind her i hadn't smoked a cigarette since august of 2019. I asked if she meant "will i get her cigarettes from upstairs?" and she nodded and then started shuffling over to the bed so she could flop down on it next to me. i was in the middle of a salmon run, so i asked if she'd just wait a few minutes and i'd go get them. i finished the run and asked her to move so i could get off the air mattress. ...she then proceeded to roll off into the floor. we both had a laugh, and she said "i'm just gonna sit here for a minute," and i said "alright," and went upstairs to get her smokes.
i returned, helped her up and she seemed fine, went outside to do her business. i started drawing. i stayed up for several hours to finish a commission. when i was getting ready to go to bed, around 7am, she asked if i would make her something to eat. i, of course, was frustrated because i was literally curling up to go to sleep when she asked. i made her some ramen, she ate a few bites, then wanted another cigarette. i had to tell her that there weren't anymore, but i couldn't go get her any because of the sciatica. i couldn't (and still can't) apply any pressure with my right leg, so driving simply wasn't an option for me. I said I could call meemommie (my grandmother) or aunt hether to bring her some, but... she said she it was fine, and went to lay down again.
i honestly should have known then that something was wrong. it never mattered how sick she was, she *always* wanted a cigarette. at least to know that some were coming by the time she'd wake up again?? but she insisted it was fine and just... went to sleep.
i decided to do the same. i slept until 2pm.
when i woke up, i walked to the bathroom first (the door was right outside my bedroom) but what i encountered... it was a horror show. no blood or anything, but i'm not going to go into any great description of it because it's honestly just. bad. not just traumatizing but also horribly fucking embarrassing.
i called upstairs for her, but got no answer. i thought i'd check the living room before going up there because she had been sleeping on the couch on and off for the past few days. and that's where i found her. she was panting, staring up at the ceiling, completely catatonic and just... a mess. a mess i was not prepared for, nor equipped for. i tried talking to her, getting her to tell me what happened, but she didn't respond. she just stared past me. through me. she didn't see me at all. couldn't answer me.
i called aunt hether. i told her i needed her, as the most able-bodied of us all, to come help me clean mom up and get an ambulance. i couldn't call the ambulance yet, i couldn't let them see her like that. she would have been so ashamed if a bunch of strangers saw her in that state.
a few minutes passed where i started trying to give her water and... well, i don't remember. that little while was a blur. i saw a car pull up and i went to the door to open it and let hether in.
it wasn't hether. it was meemommie. i told her "no, turn around. I need Hether." because I... I just couldn't let her see mom like that. I couldn't let her see her *couch* like that, and-- fuck, how programmed am i by this family's priorities that one of my first concerns was "meemommie is going to have a come apart over the state of her couch"??? when her ill (and literally dying) daughter was lying on it? she said it was fine, and to let her in.
meemommie immediately went into "mother" mode and started helping me clean her up. I'd gotten gloves and paper towels and regular towels and we searched around for baby wipes and spray bottles... i grabbed clean clothes to get her ready for the drive to the hospital. mom was too heavy for us to really move around effectively. meemommie is an extremely healthy 79 year old, but i'm a Very Disabled 33 year old, and together we simply could not do it ourselves.
all the while, the only things mom was able to muster were "i'm sorry," "mom, i love you," and "help me." all statements directed to meemommie. ...it was like i wasn't there at all. (i want to pretend i'm not fucked up by that, but... ha.)
we called the paramedics. we have a fire station literally 0.2 miles away. they were there quickly. they read all her vitals and said she was fine?? she was obviously dehydrated and needed to go to the hospital, but because she was still "conscious," and we weren't her [insert term for healthcare proxy, i can't remember right now] so she was the one who had to make the decision on whether or not she was going to the hospital in the ambulance or in the car. they had to raise their voices a few times to get her to respond to them and give them her social security number, but she couldn't. they had to get her to sign something on this tablet, it was not a good signature. by this point i think she had already had one stroke. they did not check to see if that was even a possibility. she was still present enough to fight them on even taking her to the hospital in the first place, she didn't want to go. i know it was because she knew it was going to be expensive, but nobody BUT HER cared. she obviously needed help.
some things to know about my mom going forward in this post as well as any conversation about her: she was a drug addict, almost a year clean by this point. she had complete dentures. the addiction aged her significantly, to a point where most people thought she was my grandmother's sister and not her daughter.
i think the emts thought she had early onset dementia or something. they treated her like it. we couldn't seem to get across to them that she was a vibrant woman full of life with very few cognitive issues on a day-to-day basis. this was Not Normal for her. we informed them that she was currently on suboxone (as i was informed by my aunt later she wasn't even taking THAT anymore) but that shouldn't have been giving the effects that it was. they really didn't ask many questions. that even kind of led them to the possibility that she'd had a stroke. i was so freaked out that i wasnt thinking of it at the time either.
after getting a final denial of the ambulance, they picked her up and began walking her out to the car, no gurney. i fixed her pants for her and joked "don't want anybody seeing your booty!" everybody chuckled and made their own quips, trying to be lighthearted. I told her "i love you, be safe." Like I always did. (Thanks, Fruits Basket, for instilling in me that particular fear.)
and... that was the last thing i said to my mom.
They took her to the hospital.
I cleaned. I ripped all the sheets and towels off the couch and tossed them in the wash. I ripped all the covers off the cushions, went out back and pressure washed them. I was in such a panic that I couldn't even process how much agony I was in anymore, but I couldn't just sit there and do nothing. I scrubbed the back of the couch, tried to clean the smell off of me. Ran the washer again. Talked to Luc. Tried to Eat. Ran the washer a third time. Took a shower.
Got a call six hours later where my dad told me they'd finally gotten her in a room. She sat in that fucking emergency room for six goddamned hours. No stroke alert. No IV. The hospital ALSO thought she was a dementia patient. She was "haggard," and conscious enough to be fussy, she didn't have her teeth in when they took her so she looked 20 years older. They didn't know she'd had a stroke, because they weren't checking for it. None of us knew she'd had a stroke because nobody thought that was a possibility. At some point Noah gave up on his trip and was already driving back five hours from gulf shores. They didn't even get to see the concert they wanted to go to. He went to the hospital to check on mom and to trade out with Meemommie so she could come home and sleep.
I laid down and took a nap between 10pm and midnight. Got up to work on commissions and talk to Luc again. They still weren't home... I figured they'd keep her overnight since it took so long to get her in a room.
4am rolls around, I figure Meemommie must have gone back to Noah's to sleep.
4:19. Noah comes in my room, tells me to get off the call. I hang up with Luc.
I didn't have time to feel dread.
"She didn't make it."
I remember saying. "No." I remember saying "No," over and over and over again until I couldn't breathe. He sat down on the bed and held me. Noah and I... don't hug often. He's my little brother, but we never had a particularly touchy relationship as kids. It's still odd as adults. But he held me and let me scream and cry.
At some point he traded out with Meemommie. We cried and held each other and made our silly little coping jokes and cried even more. I'm just like her, everyone has always said so, but somehow that moment really solidified it for me. We couldn't even grieve without sob-laughing.
Noah went home to tell his wife, his kids and my aunt. I can't imagine how that must have gone for him. Bless his soul. He didn't shed a tear with me, but his eyes were red and puffy and idk if it was the military that hardened him or what, but... he had to be the bearer of bad news and maybe that was the only reason he was the only one equipped for it, but.. he did it. He was such a Man about it. I'm proud of him and I'm sure mom would have been too.
god this is so long already, i'm gonna have to take a break.
part 2 coming... soon? idk
for context, for those who may not know, if anybody is reading this at all...
my mom died october 15, 2023. which is still just absolutely wild to say. wild to think. wild that no matter how many times i say it out loud, it doesn't feel real. it doesn't feel true. it doesn't feel *possible.*
she was only 59. same age her dad was when he died. he died of lung cancer. she died of a MONTH LONG untreated bladder infection, leading to sepsis and a stroke. perhaps even a series of strokes. i'm still unclear on the timeline.
i'm... still mad at her for that. i'm mad at her for not telling anyone. i'm mad at her for prioritizing me over herself. i'm mad that she was so scared of running up yet another series of medical bills that she just let it go until it literally fucking killed her. i'm mad that our fucking healthcare system sucks so goddamn bad in this country that she had to choose paying for my health over her own.
i was already in birmingham to have my sciatica treated (they only gave me medicine for the pain, but no scans or tests, i was supposed to go back for that soon, but uh... i guess we're just gonna have to wait it out now. 8') sigh.) and i had already been there for ten days when she passed.
it started with a migraine.
her usual, monthly migraine.
she had always had migraines. they'd disable her for a few days and then they'd pass and she'd be up again. she's had those for MOST of my life, so really this was not an unusual occurrence.
day 1 of migraine passed, we thought nothing of it.
day 2, same old same old.
on day 3, my grandmother had gone over to my brother's house to watch his kids with my aunt. if mom hadn't been having her migraines, she would have been the one to do it instead since noah was out of town with his wife, finally getting to have the anniversary vacation they'd been trying to have for years! i was put in charge of feeding mom, giving her her meds and water. Of course she didn't want any, she always hated water. she wasn't eating, she wasn't hungry! still not unusual. i don't like to eat when i feel bad, either! but then... she started getting delirious.
at some point she'd come into my room to ask me if i had any cigarettes. i had to remind her i hadn't smoked a cigarette since august of 2019. I asked if she meant "will i get her cigarettes from upstairs?" and she nodded and then started shuffling over to the bed so she could flop down on it next to me. i was in the middle of a salmon run, so i asked if she'd just wait a few minutes and i'd go get them. i finished the run and asked her to move so i could get off the air mattress. ...she then proceeded to roll off into the floor. we both had a laugh, and she said "i'm just gonna sit here for a minute," and i said "alright," and went upstairs to get her smokes.
i returned, helped her up and she seemed fine, went outside to do her business. i started drawing. i stayed up for several hours to finish a commission. when i was getting ready to go to bed, around 7am, she asked if i would make her something to eat. i, of course, was frustrated because i was literally curling up to go to sleep when she asked. i made her some ramen, she ate a few bites, then wanted another cigarette. i had to tell her that there weren't anymore, but i couldn't go get her any because of the sciatica. i couldn't (and still can't) apply any pressure with my right leg, so driving simply wasn't an option for me. I said I could call meemommie (my grandmother) or aunt hether to bring her some, but... she said she it was fine, and went to lay down again.
i honestly should have known then that something was wrong. it never mattered how sick she was, she *always* wanted a cigarette. at least to know that some were coming by the time she'd wake up again?? but she insisted it was fine and just... went to sleep.
i decided to do the same. i slept until 2pm.
BEGINNING OF THE END OF A LIFE, BODILY FLUIDS, TRAUMATIZING IMAGERY, MENTIONS OF DRUG ADDICTION, MEDICAL NEGLECT, MY EXPERIENCE OF HEARING THAT MY MOTHER HAS PASSED
when i woke up, i walked to the bathroom first (the door was right outside my bedroom) but what i encountered... it was a horror show. no blood or anything, but i'm not going to go into any great description of it because it's honestly just. bad. not just traumatizing but also horribly fucking embarrassing.
i called upstairs for her, but got no answer. i thought i'd check the living room before going up there because she had been sleeping on the couch on and off for the past few days. and that's where i found her. she was panting, staring up at the ceiling, completely catatonic and just... a mess. a mess i was not prepared for, nor equipped for. i tried talking to her, getting her to tell me what happened, but she didn't respond. she just stared past me. through me. she didn't see me at all. couldn't answer me.
i called aunt hether. i told her i needed her, as the most able-bodied of us all, to come help me clean mom up and get an ambulance. i couldn't call the ambulance yet, i couldn't let them see her like that. she would have been so ashamed if a bunch of strangers saw her in that state.
a few minutes passed where i started trying to give her water and... well, i don't remember. that little while was a blur. i saw a car pull up and i went to the door to open it and let hether in.
it wasn't hether. it was meemommie. i told her "no, turn around. I need Hether." because I... I just couldn't let her see mom like that. I couldn't let her see her *couch* like that, and-- fuck, how programmed am i by this family's priorities that one of my first concerns was "meemommie is going to have a come apart over the state of her couch"??? when her ill (and literally dying) daughter was lying on it? she said it was fine, and to let her in.
meemommie immediately went into "mother" mode and started helping me clean her up. I'd gotten gloves and paper towels and regular towels and we searched around for baby wipes and spray bottles... i grabbed clean clothes to get her ready for the drive to the hospital. mom was too heavy for us to really move around effectively. meemommie is an extremely healthy 79 year old, but i'm a Very Disabled 33 year old, and together we simply could not do it ourselves.
all the while, the only things mom was able to muster were "i'm sorry," "mom, i love you," and "help me." all statements directed to meemommie. ...it was like i wasn't there at all. (i want to pretend i'm not fucked up by that, but... ha.)
we called the paramedics. we have a fire station literally 0.2 miles away. they were there quickly. they read all her vitals and said she was fine?? she was obviously dehydrated and needed to go to the hospital, but because she was still "conscious," and we weren't her [insert term for healthcare proxy, i can't remember right now] so she was the one who had to make the decision on whether or not she was going to the hospital in the ambulance or in the car. they had to raise their voices a few times to get her to respond to them and give them her social security number, but she couldn't. they had to get her to sign something on this tablet, it was not a good signature. by this point i think she had already had one stroke. they did not check to see if that was even a possibility. she was still present enough to fight them on even taking her to the hospital in the first place, she didn't want to go. i know it was because she knew it was going to be expensive, but nobody BUT HER cared. she obviously needed help.
some things to know about my mom going forward in this post as well as any conversation about her: she was a drug addict, almost a year clean by this point. she had complete dentures. the addiction aged her significantly, to a point where most people thought she was my grandmother's sister and not her daughter.
i think the emts thought she had early onset dementia or something. they treated her like it. we couldn't seem to get across to them that she was a vibrant woman full of life with very few cognitive issues on a day-to-day basis. this was Not Normal for her. we informed them that she was currently on suboxone (as i was informed by my aunt later she wasn't even taking THAT anymore) but that shouldn't have been giving the effects that it was. they really didn't ask many questions. that even kind of led them to the possibility that she'd had a stroke. i was so freaked out that i wasnt thinking of it at the time either.
after getting a final denial of the ambulance, they picked her up and began walking her out to the car, no gurney. i fixed her pants for her and joked "don't want anybody seeing your booty!" everybody chuckled and made their own quips, trying to be lighthearted. I told her "i love you, be safe." Like I always did. (Thanks, Fruits Basket, for instilling in me that particular fear.)
and... that was the last thing i said to my mom.
They took her to the hospital.
I cleaned. I ripped all the sheets and towels off the couch and tossed them in the wash. I ripped all the covers off the cushions, went out back and pressure washed them. I was in such a panic that I couldn't even process how much agony I was in anymore, but I couldn't just sit there and do nothing. I scrubbed the back of the couch, tried to clean the smell off of me. Ran the washer again. Talked to Luc. Tried to Eat. Ran the washer a third time. Took a shower.
Got a call six hours later where my dad told me they'd finally gotten her in a room. She sat in that fucking emergency room for six goddamned hours. No stroke alert. No IV. The hospital ALSO thought she was a dementia patient. She was "haggard," and conscious enough to be fussy, she didn't have her teeth in when they took her so she looked 20 years older. They didn't know she'd had a stroke, because they weren't checking for it. None of us knew she'd had a stroke because nobody thought that was a possibility. At some point Noah gave up on his trip and was already driving back five hours from gulf shores. They didn't even get to see the concert they wanted to go to. He went to the hospital to check on mom and to trade out with Meemommie so she could come home and sleep.
I laid down and took a nap between 10pm and midnight. Got up to work on commissions and talk to Luc again. They still weren't home... I figured they'd keep her overnight since it took so long to get her in a room.
4am rolls around, I figure Meemommie must have gone back to Noah's to sleep.
4:19. Noah comes in my room, tells me to get off the call. I hang up with Luc.
I didn't have time to feel dread.
"She didn't make it."
I remember saying. "No." I remember saying "No," over and over and over again until I couldn't breathe. He sat down on the bed and held me. Noah and I... don't hug often. He's my little brother, but we never had a particularly touchy relationship as kids. It's still odd as adults. But he held me and let me scream and cry.
At some point he traded out with Meemommie. We cried and held each other and made our silly little coping jokes and cried even more. I'm just like her, everyone has always said so, but somehow that moment really solidified it for me. We couldn't even grieve without sob-laughing.
Noah went home to tell his wife, his kids and my aunt. I can't imagine how that must have gone for him. Bless his soul. He didn't shed a tear with me, but his eyes were red and puffy and idk if it was the military that hardened him or what, but... he had to be the bearer of bad news and maybe that was the only reason he was the only one equipped for it, but.. he did it. He was such a Man about it. I'm proud of him and I'm sure mom would have been too.
god this is so long already, i'm gonna have to take a break.
part 2 coming... soon? idk
