My Mo(u)rning Mother

Sunday morning I woke to my mother's voice. My body felt heavy, and I mumbled at her statements of the time, but when she said "I need to talk to you," and handed me a cup of coffee, I dragged myself into a sitting position.

She sat on Terri's bed in her pajamas and glasses and untamed hair, beautiful and so real. She poured out her thoughts to me in a stream-of-consciousness fast-paced ramble. Everything she was saying felt so immediate and deeply important.

As she told me about an incident between Terri and my father, about his past grievances with his brother, his alliance with my grandmother, and his directionless escape on his motorcycle, I kept wanting to tell her things, to comfort her, but I couldn't keep up. I just listened, and wondered if this was partly why counselors keep notes. I think listening was most of what she needed, as she may not have had room for advice in the turmoil of her thoughts and feelings at the time. I'm glad that she came to me and that I was able to do that.

Sadly, there wasn't time to continue talking; we needed to get ready for Rosa's wedding. I had so much I wanted to tell her, but the conversation couldn't be recreated later. Immediately afterward, I was so motivated to try to remedy the tensions in the house. I wrote "No more of this waiting. No more of this moping." 

I wish I spoke more eloquently. My thoughts are so, so slow...

And now, I don't know how to end this. I suppose I'll end it abruptly, like our conversation.

Thank you for reading. <3