There's rosemary, that's for remembrance.
William Shakespeare: Hamlet, Prince of Denmark



Thursday, October 31, 2013

Just because

I've spent part of the last two days going through boxes and files of cards, comic strips, letters, newspaper articles, kids drawings, essays and school projects. I threw out cards from people I no longer remember, some comic strips and a few other weird pieces of paper (meaning I couldn't figure out why I kept them) but, kept everything from my kids, Steve and grandkids. Among about 2000 Mutt's comic strips I found a 1978 letter from my mom. My mom and I had a difficult relationship. She never said out loud that she loved me until she was dying. But, the whole purpose of this letter was to tell me just that. Why is it I don't remember ever receiving that letter? Why? Right now I really wish my mom was still alive because I need to apologize to her for being such a fucked up kid and woman. She didn't deserve a lot of the misery I put her through. My excuse for being a poor mother was I did the best I could. Maybe she did too.