Backstage in the Brunish Theater here in Portland, I found every excuse I could do a pull up right next to the sound booth, behind the main audience seating.
I miss doing pull ups. I need to get back in shape.
There were days in February where I was a blank. Where my notes read things like “I worked. I can’t remember anything else.”
Since it was grief at losing my Mother that had me so disconnected, I decided to write about my memories of her on those days.
My mother and I had long conversations where we never agreed on anything, but we talked and we learned. About ourselves and each other. I have often worried (especially since she passed) that this was an unfair amount of emotional labor, but this was a role she relished and a way that we bonded.
I still worry it was too much to ask of her, but that’s for me to bear.
I miss her perspective. I miss my Mom.
I haven’t spoken to my brother in months. No amount of “Benghazi” or “but her emails” can quell this anger that I feel towards what he did. Not when every day I see threats to my livelihood, my liberty, and the lives of my loved ones.
I know I need to get past it. I just haven’t figured out how yet.