Surprisingly it has been easier to deal with my mom than the cadre of hangers on who crowded her final days, trying to snatch drops of grace with their buzzard talons.

Her memorial is today and they'll be flocking around one last time, clawing through the ashes.

My mom knew the truth even though she couldn't confront it, and she used a huge amount of energy lying to people about it. We both did the same thing- turned it into something else. I sequestered it until I found a way to defuse and disperse it. She kept addling twists and dead ends to the maze between her and the world until the day she died.

She was afraid of me.
She spun it to everyone like our estrangement was my fault, but it was mutual. She couldn't look at me without seeing what she spent her life hiding from.

I knew the convoluted path through her labyrinth by heart. Her only other company at the cold center of her life was that unbearable reality, dug in to her shoulder like a stone ghoul on a cathedral.

Dealing with her was complicated, but we both knew the score.

Her intimates all treat the fairy tales she spun them as gospel and approach me with axes out, ready for the big bad wolf. I've about had it with playing movie screen for these projections.

We'll see what happens. Hopefully I can get through this final charade without exposing anything unseemly to the flock.

Elliot Smith, Talking to Mary
saw the one big problem you keep under your hat
and its pretty unlikely that anybody else would be cool with that

you got bus fare in your pocket and more money down in your sock
but she can't tell you how to contact her if you won't listen to her talk

one day she'll go, i told you so
one day she'll go, i told you so

it's no problem, i'll just keep quiet if it's easier for you
to make believe in that i don't love you as much as i do

one day she'll go, i told you so
one day she'll go, i told you so
i told you so, i told you so

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