This all started a few years ago. I mean, beyond the real start of all of this which happened long ago. I was 15 when my mother died from metastasized breast cancer. She was 41. Dying at age 80 after a full life is sad. Dying halfway through the adventure is what they call a tragedy.
So when I say "this all started a few years ago" I mean that I have been waiting for this period of my life for a long time. She was diagnosed at 38. Defying the odds, she lived a few more years, giving my brain this little window during which I compare myself to her more so than ever. At age 15 I didn't understand just how young 41 is. Now, on the precipice of 40, I feel it coursing through my ultra alive bloodstream, booming through my ears with a resounding echo, and piercing my thoughts with precision and fire. Now that I understand my mother more than ever, she isn't here for me to talk to. It's the most painful thing I've had to cope with during my life. So, perhaps foolishly, I thought I'd cope with it here, on the pages of this blog, for all to see. I'm either brave or stupid. Probably both.