I’ve talked about it before but only on a surface level because it’s still so embarrassing ughhh… So basically yeah… there is a naked statue of my mom near the pool in our backyard patio. My dad had it sculpted recently as a gift to her and the statue itself is roughly 10ft tall on a pedestal. Every time I go to the pool I have to pretend like it’s not there because yeah… that’s my mom… My new friend from work came over the house and I didn’t even end up telling him about the statue because I thought he wouldn’t go to the poolside and then he says he’s going outside to smoke and I’m like: “Ok maybe he won’t notice the statue…” yeah I was wrong. After like 20 minutes he comes back into my room and he’s like: “Brooo who is that statue of? She’s so fucking hot.” And I’m like: “That’s my mom…” And he goes from gooning to wanting to yeet himself from our house’s balcony. Like he even laughed afterwards and asked why it’s there and I told him why and he asked if my dad was a bachelor before...
I’m old now. Might as well get this off my chest now while I’m still breathing. I was never a religious man, but at 85 years old, you start to think about things like that. The afterlife. Who you were as a person. What awaits you when everything goes black. I think I’m writing this for the both of us. Mimi’s too far gone now to even understand the world she’s living in, let alone the one that could embrace her after she draws that last breath. Doctors diagnosed her two weeks after her 81st birthday. We didn’t need that diagnosis. Well, I didn’t, at least. I noticed the signs before we even stepped foot in a hospital. It started with names at first. Calling our son by her father’s name, calling me by her brother’s, and vice versa. That kinda thing, you know? When she started wandering around at night, though, that’s when I knew it was time to confront the inevitable. It was strange, though. Her wandering didn’t really feel like wandering. She was deliberately going to one specific loca...