Angry

I am angry.

Angry is not really the word that I am looking for, but it is the word that I suppose that I will use. Oh. Pissed is a good word. Disappointed. Upset.

I am angry because 903 days ago my mom died. She didn’t have to die. She should have listened to her doctor and stop smoking, take her meds, and live to be as old as her father ( he was 95 when he passed). But she didn’t stop smoking and she hid her medication and didn’t take it and she died and I am so pissed at her. I think about her and I want to yell at her for leaving before her time. I want to go back 30 years and knock those fucking cigarettes out of her hand and plead with her to stop smoking. It killed her. Smoking and drinking and not following doctor’s orders killed her and I am so mad I could cry. I get so angry I shake.

You should be here at Christmas. You loved Christmas SO MUCH. It was your favorite holiday, but you decided to leave instead. For a while I felt bad about yelling at you every time I caught you with cigarettes. I felt like a tattletale every time I found your life-saving medication hid all over the house. After you died, I found medication hidden in the spice cabinet at the house in Boone. Hundreds of dollars worth of life-saving medication that should have prolonged your life went untaken and I just want to scream at you ONE.MORE.TIME.

But I can’t. You are gone and all I have is your stuff, when I would rather have you.

and I am pissed.

 

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