I feel like I’m at capacity—a sponge starting to drip from oversaturation.
Since sharing the letter from my mom, friends and family have opened up about her, telling me things I didn’t know. Her best friend Laurie messaged me, “She was smart, funny, inquisitive, she saw through people.”
At the time of my Mom’s death, my Dad was the president of a bank in town, and I knew my Mom felt under the microscope in Enumclaw; her friend refers to that.
“She told me she’d like to do some things but didn’t want your dad to suffer the repercussions. She’d say he is a good guy, then laugh. I loved her sense of humor.”
I asked Laurie, “When you say ‘something she’d like to do but didn’t,’ what did she mean?”
“Tell someone off,” she said.
I read that to my dad, and he chuckled and said, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
She was a spitfire. My aunt told me earlier, “She sure could be a bitch, but she was also so very kind.” Then, she told me a story that brought that kindness to life.
The door has been closed to her for years and it’s suddenly opened. However wonderful it is, I must say it’s a little disorienting and sad.
For the longest time, I was convinced it was for the best she died. I irrationally believed we’d have a strained relationship like she did with her mom. But hearing more about who she is, about her thoughtfulness and spirited nature, I think we would have gotten along really well.
I don’t know what to do or where to go with this, and that’s okay.
I think it’s best to take a break, open my Spanish app, and get my mind on something else. I appreciate you being here with me.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 