Day 9

Red lips.

That was my first phone. I was 6.

I made a call to Molly and that was the beginning of the end. Now my Blackberry Storm is like a third hand.

But lately, my voicemail box fills quickly. I ignore many calls. I sit in the Mom-mobile in silence as I drive the 38.4 miles from home to hospice.

I don't feel like talking. Why burden my friends with my heartbreak? Why open up a wound that only causes me to sob?

Today was bad for me.

But whom am I kidding. It was worse for Mom.

Yet I was the one crying as Mom lay in bed. I don't even know if she realized I was breaking down in her hospice room.

But for once in my life, I'm ok with not talking.