The Bad Thing

Dear blog . . .

Dear interwebs . . .

I have been intentionally ignoring you. . .

I have wanted to write, but everything is stuck. 

Because I have to write about the bad thing if I ever want to write about anything else ever again. Which sounds melodramatic but is perfectly true.

But I'm so scared because writing about the bad thing will make it real. If I have to read the words I write there is no going back.

The bad thing isn't about me, though it consumes my heart and mind and soul every moment I'm not occupied. And there is nothing. I. Can. Do. About. It.

And it is the most helpless and alone I have ever felt in my life. Again, so melodramatic. But not one bit of exaggeration.

So I'm going to write about the bad thing. And maybe it will allow me to take a deep breath. Because I have not been able to do that in so long.

I am losing my mom. That is the bad thing.

To dementia? Alzheimer's? Stroke related brain damage? We don't know yet. But honestly, it doesn't matter. Because the core of who my mom is. Was. Isn't there. 

And I don't know how to do this.