I cry and manage to spit out, "I wish my mom was still alive." Saying more would be revealing that I am terrified and I don't know if I'll ever be able to admit orally that her death is also, in a way, freeing.
I devoted much of my energy to worrying about her happiness. The years passed and my worries remained consistent and constant. I couldn't (wouldn't?) let go, move on, what have you without her. Did I romanticize her situation? Could I have done more for her? Could I have changed the direction of her present and future?
I feel guilty.
If given the opportunity, I would live my twenties differently.
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