Mornings are pretty great, for the most part.
Except on my dark days. But we won't talk about those. Not yet. 

This darkness outside is miserable as hell. Spring and Summer offer hope and promise, do they not? DO THEY NOT???? 

We not supposed to be happy during this time of year. Are we not? ARE WE NOT????

Isn't that some kind of rule? Such a dumb rule. So dumb. So very, very, dumb. I have never adhered to these kind of societal rules. Can I just feel what I feel? Can I? CAN I?????

Can you sense that I am Internally very angry? It's funny, because all they will see is me here typing. I'm not even throwing a fit. 

I like to watch YouTube videos of people behaving in deviant ways. I think I enjoy those videos because I see the value in letting everyone see just how fucked up your mind really is. To lose control, to create a scene, kind of looks fun. I have been known to create a scene here and there. So BEWARE!

There is a release that occurs when you let go in that way. I have retired from that kind of exploding exposition though.

I digress.

Even though I'm feeling somewhat miserable, I am okay. I have no reason to complain. No reason. None at all. None at all.

I miss my mama though. Her aura, it shone so bright, loving the holiday's with all her might. Her MIGHT.

And make no mistake. Her might was mighty. Her bombastic, escasty. Outrageous. Contagious joy. A mighty force, to reinforce. To keep us all together. No matter how much we pissed each other off with our ways. 

Her gifts thoughtfully bundled together. Even the way she wrapped things was unique to her alone. 

Her laughter erupting from time to time. Filling the room with herself. Herself. Herself. Her. Self. Her selfless self.

Never an ornament on a shelf. Not a delicate figurine. Unobtrusive. Unseen.

But rather trusive, was she. That's not a goddamn word, is it? Intrusive, pushing her way in, like the world was hers. And it was. The world was hers. and she took it. She Embraced life. 

I wouldn't want her any other way. Than herself and the way she entered a room,  or a place, or unit of space. you can't help but see her there. She is everywhere. She IS the room. Nobody else exists whilst she is in there. 

Every year she would set up her Christmas village and train. My children grew up, mesmerized with the magic of it all. The magic she made Christmas. Video camera following their every move. Her laughter in the background. An eruption there in behind the scene.

There is no longer a Christmas village or train. It wouldn't be the same. The memory would sting I think. 

I haven't been home for a while. You could always count on her being there, her smile upon seeing you. Even when she was sick. Even in her last days. I know how much effort even smiling cost her. How every step was a colossal trial of wills. She put in the effort. As she always did. She defied the darkness. Tho, I know it existed for her. She pushed through any sadness she had, like a warrior.

We planted her garden for her. That is what she wanted. Even knowing she would never live to see anything grow. She watched us digging in the dirt.

That day I said goodbye to Mama. I must have known. But it didn't feel like the last time. Not really. What does a last time feel like? There is never a last time. Only a time. We had a time. There will not be another time.

A few days later she was gone.