more conversations with my mom

Discussing her impending retirement (as in today was the last day of work for her–ever–in life. Have I mentioned I’m jealous?):

I’m too old for this ish.

But, my dear mother, you are not too old to say ish. So, I have to say that bodes pretty well for this retirement of yours.

Felicidades to my amazing mom.

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now I understand…

…why my mom said I can’t just disappear.

She was really good about it because she had to know that it wouldn’t make sense to me. And it didn’t. But I listened because I told her I knew I wouldn’t understand so I would accept whatever she said as true.

So, I really want to talk to you right now (even though I know you would be disappointed in me), and part of me wants to be mad at you that you’re not here. But the bigger part of me understands, and I’m still happy for you. And the rest of me knows you’re always with me so I just have to shut up and listen to know you’re here–which is one of the last things you said to me.

Which is not the understanding.

The understanding came a few seconds ago when I realized that I’m not mad because we’re exactly the same—soulmates, you used to say. But for anyone else who doesn’t get this, they would never understand. And they would be mad or hurt.

So, thanks mom.

the second conversation

Me: I’m really disappointed in  myself because I drove past BevMo at least seven times last week, and I never picked up that blueberry ale.

Mom: You’re going to go nuts in a place like that.

Me: I don’t think so. I haven’t been drinking really. I can’t drink and run this much.

Mom: Well, you know you should always keep a supply of liquor.

Me: For what?

Mom: To clean wounds.