Easter brings back, loudly, kuwaiti reservoirdogs

joe, 1977 in sports, karina arroyave, ewen bremner, robert downey jr., eileen nicholas, fullmetal jacket, grouphug.us, roll, letras, reservoirdogs, journal, whales, title, kuwait, contests, digitalart, herbie ade, syria, iran, Last night my housemate channeled my mom, when our hellion of a kitten, Shadow, got up on the kitchen counter. Eve stomped her foot, and hissed, and for a moment it was Helen, scaring off a cat 30 years ago. kuwaiti The kuwaiti hair stood up on the back of my neck. Why are all the important women in my life named after kuwaiti great beauties and goddesses? Helen of Troy. Eve. Katherine the Great. My sister, Kate, who when I am too flirtatious, calls me Bianca. She is not entirely sure she likes that play. So I will be sending that easter basket. But Chii, when you get it, remember that it's not really from me, it's from Helen. /me still misses her. printable version chaos Beautiful things that have made you cryThe day my mom diedDying of cancerHow I nearly killed myself masturbating Hello, sorry to wake you, your father is dyingIt's hard to know what to say when a friend's parent they always hated suddenly diesHow my favorite Grandma diedWe need to watch things die When I was five years old, I knew I was going to dieI would kill my motherAre you trying to get skin cancer?It's
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Easter brings back, loudly, the spring my mother died. Our egg hunt with the two cutest two-year-old girls ever. Morphine. Hair falling out. Her reservoirdogs being thirsty and hungry and cold, and complaining that no one was touching her. When she said that, I climbed into her hospital bed (which reservoirdogs was in the room in their house that reservoirdogs had been "mine"), and just curled up around her. She looked so fragile, with the flesh falling off her, that I think we were all afraid to touch her because we feared she might break. How can we remember the wonderful things, and let go of the not so wonderful? I want to remember her as an amazing, vital, funny, passionate, loving person who would walk for miles through museums and gardens and mountains, not as a veritable corpse in a hospital bed. How do you honor someone's dying, and be present for it, without having that overwhelm the other memories?
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