I’m such a scrooge, thats what I tell everyone. In reality I’m just sad but saying I’m sad will just bring down the room, I dont want to do that.
On December 30, 1978 my mother died. I was too young to have any memories of her or of the events of that time but every year around Thanksgiving an overwhelming sadness traps me and holds tight until after the new year has begun.
I’m sad and I dont know that I can or that I even want to not be sad. It is in my sadness that I know her, that I feel her, that I know, that at one point there was someone that loved me unconditionally, my sadness is the only thing that makes her real.
I dont want to bring down the room so… goodnight.