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Lisa

And then one morning she was cold and dead on her bathroom floor.  No more constant sorrows. March 16, 2023, 2 days before her birthday. Two weeks later, no word on a cause of death. Apparently a report will be several more weeks in the making. It's a situation of my own creation that I may or may not ever hear results. But... the rest of the world is ok with this? We don't care why she died? She was 50. Yes health issues. Yes smoker. Yes covid, yes lung stuff. Yes often depressed. Yes, the emotionally abandoning platitude has surely already been voiced, "She's no longer suffering." But she was 50. She was 50. And the guess is heart attack. I'd like to hear more than a guess.  Does no one but me long for a reason, an explanation, some words of professional witness to say, I see with you that she has died, this being whom you loved as well as you could for as long as you could, in spite of your mutual synergistic propensities for almost never seeing eye to eye?
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Unravelings

 I fear my voice. No, I fear the reactions of others against me should I use my voice where it can be heard. I fear abandonment and betrayal as a cost of the unpopularity of my viewpoint. I see differently. I am fucking over bypassing. I need to use language to freely process what feels true and what Truth may be found, wherever it may be found. Underneath is another well-aged belief: nobody wants to hear any of it anyway, by default, before the first word, regardless of views expressed or avoided or curated or even properly spin-packaged to a shiny positive finish.  There they are, my parents, right there in those fears. One is dead, the other banished by her own pathology. And here we still are. I'm tired of the dissonance between the "cult of the individual," as Karen KJ Sassypants Hawkwood calls it, and real human experience. Yes, I am whole unto self. And, I am whole unto self as a creature of community. The species that remains dependent on adult providers for the l
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