Thornhedge by T. Kingfisher
Toads are capable of sarcasm, but their blood runs too cold for hysteria.
Musings on Lost Mothers
My mother died March 24, 2024. I'm having a hard time processing that, I guess. It is only starting to hurt. When I was little ("like a number approaching infinity, say, 6") and not so little, but younger (30), I could not imagine a world without my mother. To consider such a place and time was unbearably painful. Yet, here I am. And, often, it saddens and confuses me to say, I don't feel anything. More, when the loss was new, I am ashamed that I felt relief. I was her caretaker. I wasn't all that great at it. She told me so regularly. She told me I was a disappointment. She told me I lacked compassion. She was sad and lonely and she wanted me to split my soul open and share everything with her. She wanted me to satify her needs for connection and give her the opportunity to mother me in my distress. "Ann. Why are you so unhappy?" I think I tried at least a few couple times, but i...
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