Caterwauling

Friday the 13th.

I haven’t been out of the house since I got home from Orlando.

This is not me. I was walking 25,000 steps a day when I was gone. I was free. I was happy.

Did not gain an ounce.

Now I’m back to drinking a half-bottle of wine a day and I’m up four pounds since Tuesday.

Charming.

I have a dress for a party that I bought a long time ago, thinking surely I will lose 10 pounds and it will be perfect.

Well I’m up eight pounds from that time.

Charming!

When Mom was here and not actively dying, I ran out every night for some sort of dinner or missing ingredient. I don’t do that anymore. Sometimes I go to the gym. Sometimes I crack open dinner in my gym clothes that don’t leave the house.

Today was another first, though.

I was typing something somewhere, and I wrote that I live alone.

I have not lived alone since Sept. 18, 2007, when Mom moved to Maryland. Unceremoniously dumped on my doorstep by Blob with the suspenders.

Talk about someone who not only deserves to die, but actively wished the wife he was separated from at the time that she would die on the operating table because she was getting gastric bypass.

They got back together once Mom came to live with me. They remind me of a certain Greenacres couple, Norbit and Rasputia.

In any event, I guess I don’t live alone, as I have codependent kiddos. But as I sit here trying to throw together details for an unexpected trip, I am really feeling the absence of my someone who would help me without fail or question.

I already miss my someone so freaking much. And times like this only make this great big loss that much greater.

Only one thing can save us. Only the young… can run.
byu/Pudix20 inTaylorSwift

Something changed in me today.

I immediately thought, “I woke up different.” So I set out to find the meme I’d saved by the same name.

It’s beautiful. But it’s not quite fitting.

Luckily this other meme came up in the same search.

I guess it’s really not a meme. And it’s really not what’s in my head. But it’s not like there’s a perfect platitude when you’re just a girl who’s lost her mom.

What I mean by waking up different is sad (of course) but almost hopeful.

Almost Hopeful should have been the title of this tome.

Mom’s been gone almost 90 days. And it really took till today for me to realize, she is not coming back. Not in the human form, anyway.

And maybe, just maybe, I will be OK.

My cousin is farther along on the grief express. Her mom died on Sept. 22. (And her baby was born on Sept. 26.) So she’s shipping them all to Tokyo for the remainder of the month.

Here I’ve been trying to figure out how to get through Mom’s birthday. Thanksgiving. Christmas. And a whole new year without her.

I hadn’t thought much about the anniversary date. Father’s Day.

Now I’m starting to wonder if I’m not thinking big enough.

Like, I am just trying to figure out how to get through the holidays without her famous stuffing balls.

And I give myself that grace. Take one holiday or milestone at a time. Try not to notice there’s an absolute fuckload of events after those to navigate, too.

I don’t think Mom would hate if I went to Disneyland Tokyo on the big anniversary. Or maybe she would because she couldn’t stand my Japan calls. Disneyland Paris?

Anyway, maybe I didn’t wake up so different after all. But the word “acceptance” keeps rolling around in my head.

I know why, though.

I still dream about her every night. She is always young and vibrant and laughing and zany and adorable.

And it hits me that, while I only have a few photos of her over the past 10 years, she never looked all that healthy in any of them.

Always in pain. Always faking it. Always saying she felt good enough to do whatever adventure I planned.

Memories can lie. Cameras, not so much.

So my dream Mom comes to me around age 30 to 40. And I love to see it.

Mom & Maddie when I traveled. Found this in my grandfather’s wallet next to a baby picture of me.

That’s kind of where the acceptance comes in.

I accept that she clung to a life and a body that held on as long as they could, and maybe even a little longer because of her sheer optimism and hope.

I say that about Cocoa, that I probably gave her a good extra year with the medicine. And Momma had always countered that I probably gave Cocoa four extra years, as that’s how long I had her.

We never saw kitties at that ghetto Target again. Who knows what happened to them. But my baby Bella is a healthy 5-year-old now. And Cokes got 15 years’ worth of love in her short four years.

Cokie and Grammy wanted to stay. Their bodies just wouldn’t let them. And I loved them both out, the best I could.

Maybe it’s time to start forgiving myself for not doing more, and loving myself for what I could and did do.

To love is to be vulnerable, saith C.S. Lewis.

And to manage not to put up my “Don’t Treadmill on Me” sign on my Teams profile is to be a goddamn hero.

My friend asked if I’m back home and how the rest of my trip went, as we last spoke halfway through it.

My answer:

“The scariest headwear at the Disney Halloween parade was maga hats. All but my last day got rained out. Met nice people and ate a ton. I feel like a stuffed pork chop and I hate everything. But for a little while I was just a random girl on vacation and not the sad bitch who is avoiding Treadmill (redacted).”

Her reply:

“Damn, I didn’t know a short text could make me want to scream cry and laugh with such force. Treadmill (redacted) is better than any name trump could come up with.”

Not that there is a single silver lining in my life right now.

But I will say, at least I haven’t said anything about work that could give me heartburn.

I guess till this post anyway.

Seriously, why does someone amazing die but …

Yeah, never mind.

In any event, I was on a roll till someone informed me they must check all my work.

This they told me two days ago that I had written something wrong and I sent them a screenshot of THEIR mistake that I was copying for consistency.

Also we have amazing copywriters and editorial writers all through the company. And they pay two freelancers who couldn’t sell a MeowBook Pro to my cats.

I keep dodging this person who keeps insisting on meeting rather than her just giving me a link I asked for.

I remember how she treated me like garbage for a year and a half. I no longer have a problem with her but let’s not jeopardize that peace, hey?

I know. I’m 50. Though I’ll always be 30ish to Cindy.

Anyway, it’s almost 90 days that Momma is gone. I never went 90 minutes without talking to her.

Even if I went on a trip alone, we texted the whole time. She would always thank me for taking her with me.

I still text her. Not as much, of course. But, when I remember an inside joke I don’t want to forget.

Though Siri needs as much help as some copy types.

My friend picked up what I put down.

Not just that I am a sad bitch. Which, SO accurate.

Rather that, in a familiar town full of strangers, I was whoever they might have imagined me to be.

Childless cat lady.

Brave girl to travel without a man or a friend.

Big spender (albeit with Disney points).

Adventurous eater (stuffed pork chop).

Cool ears girl (which, I love my ears).

If they even saw me.

Which, other than Susan, Tiffany, Christina, Matty, Rachel and Terra — over the course of 10 days — oh and that cute guy at Giordano’s — I can assume they did not.

I come home and I’m back to being the girl who lost her mom.

I guess I’m still all those other things.

But this is how I define myself more than anything.

Even more than stuffed pork chop.

I’ve probably written about my AP Classics teacher Leona Helmsley. (I forget her real name but seems fitting.)

Leona always reminded us, “You’re special, just like everyone else.”

I’ve thought about this since Mom died. A lot.

We were always special.

I had a young mom. We looked alike. We enjoyed each others’ company. We did everything together. We always had each other.

I’ve been acutely aware since June 16 that I am no longer special.

I don’t have my mom to make me special.

To make me FEEL special.

To prove to me over and over again, in a world determined to prove otherwise, that I really AM special.

Like, now I am just like everyone else.

Just another girl who’s lost her mom.

Another person who has to go through life without a single soul who believes in her or loves her for all she is and for all she isn’t.

And when you think about it, she couldn’t beat this stupid, wretched illness she got.

So maybe, in that, she wasn’t special, either.

I mean, I would punch anyone in their caricature-quality face if they said that last part anywhere I could hear it.

Hey Cindy memba this shit?

Like, the nerve of anyone without anything that makes THEM special, thinking they can make us feel not special.

Though I’ve spent an entire lifetime, career and dating history on hoping maybe the next asshole will be different. Nothing like having a loser try to make US feel like nothing.

I have been a bit obsessed with this whole ordinary-ness of it all. I kind of understand some people whom I’ve called names like ugly or stupid or frumpy or whatever variation of dipshit I’ve felt they deserved.

I mean, I still do. But really what I was saying is I/we were absolutely extraordinary and they were forgettable. Which, honestly, calling them that would have been more honest/hurtful than any other adjective.

I don’t want to be forgettable.

Everyone knew and remembered my mom. I finally got brave enough to post her photo on Faceypages and I got 60 people in an hour to say oh we loved your Momma.

How unbelievable that you two aren’t together right now. You were inseparable. You were always a unit.

And now, she is a memory.

I told my friend Eva that I think I am regressing. I was super sad … then I was functional … and now I am in the fucking abyss.

She said you’re not regressing. You are grieving. Something you are going to do every day for the rest of your life, on different “volumes.”

Some days it’s a 10, some it’s a 4; you just try to get to your new baseline and pretty soon it’s as much a part of you as your green eyes and blonde hair.

So, I am indeed special. Just like everyone else.

I don’t want to be “special” special. I want to be extraordinary.

My momma wasn’t just extraordinary. She was EXQUISITE.

I was thinking on the drive home, it’s not that this is my time to remember who I was.

(That girl died with her Momma. And her Cocoa. And her Maddie and Kadie. And her Gram and Grampy and Old Gram. And her Sia and Janna and Jane and Jesse and Larry and Elaine and everyone else who’s on her spirit team.)

Our only “family” picture with Cokes and Bell. And mom’s beloved birdos.

It’s my time to figure out who I will be next.

(The Dawn who doesn’t have that amazing family with her here. But the Dawn who does have Shan and Meg and Belly and Magic.)

I just wish that Dawn had cat-sitters. Because those jabronis need to learn to scoop their own shit otherwise so I can go see Taylor Swift, who belongs to both Dawns.

How do I get to be THAT special, like Taylor? I don’t need to be beloved. I just need to create.

That’s the meaning of life, to me, loud and clear. To create. To leave a legacy. Like my family did. Even though I’m the only one who remembers them, who do I get to remember me when Cindy’s hopped in her doom buggy and can’t click on my blog anymore?

I used to ask my mom why she didn’t just abort me.

It was 1973 when I was conceived. She could have. She was 16.

She wanted nothing more than to be my momma. She knew then.

I just had the thought that she died too young. Too freaking young.

But it hit me that what if she had me at 30-ish, when my grandparents had her?

We would have gotten 15 fewer years together.

When I look back at photos, I see how fragile she was all along. And I get mad at myself for how many times I wished we just lived separately.

Like, I loved her to absolute pieces but I don’t think humans of any genders, ages or relationships should spend that much time together.

But, when I think about it, we were better together than most spouses and siblings. That’s where the ache really comes from — the fact that, for the most part, it was just easy.

And now, it’s all gone.

I came back from Orlando changed. Sadder, yes. But this is the second trip I’ve taken with the cats and third on my own. And coming home to an empty house becomes slightly less of a shock each time.

“Mama, I could use some help here
Tired of talking to myself here
Back at home, you don’t exist
So here I am in the abyss
Are you really in this place?
It’s like the emptiness of space
I could search for all eternity
And never see your face
Help me out
I’m lost without you.”

The cats are uninvited from the next trip, which my friend CJ thinks is hilarious. Like, they got themselves disqualified because they were goobers.

I guess I just can’t believe there was a life with Mom and a life after Mom. It was always “You and Me Against the World.”

Now it’s the entire Beetlejuice Broadway soundtrack.

“The nothingness ahead of me
Is this the end you meant for me?
Every living minute
There’s no home without you in it
I’m falling
Quit stalling
Your daughter is calling your name
I’ve burned all my bridges and games.”

And it still is Momma and me against the world. Even if it’s just me and the cremains I carry in my car.

For saying I spent 10 days in Orlando, I didn’t spend much.

Well, let me rephrase. Other than pandemic credit card points, I didn’t spend much.

My fat ass ate and drank my way around Epcot twice.

And really the only cash I spent was at Joffrey’s and at the parking booth because the redemption system was down.

I was spend AF at Del Frisco’s, Delmonico’s and STK. So, you could say my souvenirs were filet mignon, Chilean sea bass and cocktails.

I also picked up a skeleton Mickey and a shoulder Dante.

Barely spoke to anyone who wasn’t a colleague or a cashier.

Until last night.

I was drinking my All Hallow’s Eve Halloween Treat chocolate-peanut butter porter.

Oh! I was on a peanut butter and chocolate kick too. That was the seasonal cheesecake at Delmonico.

And I picked up the cutest Minnie witch hat at the Starbucks in Magic Kingdom. Which almost made up for not seeing the parade, fireworks or Hocus Pocus performance that my credit card points paid for.

In any event, I was just sitting down with my porter and a gal next to me, who was drinking the mimosa flight I’d had a few hours earlier, asked if I knew where the Australia booth was.

The sweetest bee decided she wanted my berry mimosa. Mom got berry everything. She would have told me not to waste my money on the flight.

Anyway yes I did know where Australia was because fatass knows her Epcot Food & Wine Festival.

Also because the poblano margarita right across from it was the first thing I tried.

She introduced herself as Tiffany. And she said please come join us.

She was there with her best friend Christina. They met when they were pregnant. Their teenage kids are friends now and their loser husbands are long gone.

They are from Cocoa Beach. I told them all about my recent trip there. They asked if I come to Disney often.

I mean, I didn’t want to say no I quit coming when Mom got sick and now I am here to avoid being sad on her birthday but I have never been sadder because she is EVERYWHERE.

So I deflected back to do they get here often.

Christina said her kid’s dad lives in Tampa and he was never good about showing up for drop-offs, as Orlando is kind of a midpoint.

So, to make up for her daughter’s dad being a constant disappointment, she got them annual passes.

“I just like to turn setbacks into successes,” Christina said.

Now THAT is a mother of the year.

Tiffany was super pretty. She said she never wants to see anyone sit alone. She remembers high school all too well and never wants anyone to feel left out. Which was why she reached out to me; she didn’t really care about Australia.

I didn’t tell her that I’m more the type to leave myself out. Whether to avoid rejection or simply to avoid wanting to do the rejecting, I’ll never tell.

Tiffany and I bonded over my Stevie Nicks mouse ears.

Which, I had to tell her about all the people who told me, “LOVE YOUR TAYLOR SWIFT EARS!” that day.

We laughed and she was going to go home and listen to Clara Bow because I started singing it. “You look like Stevie Nicks / You look like Taylor Swift.” Like they are interchangeable. Hah.

I almost gave her the ears but decided, nope. Mine. I wanted them forever, and I wear them around the house because I love them so much. It’s just nice to wear them to Disney and not (just) to greet my Amazon driver.

They all wanted to go ride Remi’s Ratatouille ride. Which I had ridden for the first time earlier and I LOVED IT. Selfie from the ride.

But I was also tired AF and not sure I was going to make it to fireworks. So, I said thank you and I can’t thank you enough for inviting me into your circle.

That was the most I talked in a week. But it still only got me to about 7:30 and I wasn’t sure 9 p.m. fireworks were gonna happen for me.

Spoiler: They did.

Epcot has a new fireworks display, “The Symphony of Us.” And all I could think of with the music was my Momma. But how could I stay awake when I was SO TIRED?

I started to walk toward the poblano margarita booth (as my porter was gone). And I stopped to take a photo with Miguel and Dante. Because, I finally realized, music plays if you stand there long enough.

Well, people kept walking in front of me as I recorded. Of course.

But then a nice group of friends stopped and asked if I wanted my photo with the statues. I said thank you, no, but hey if you stop and listen, you can hear the music with me.

And friendships were born.

So we stood there and listened and the two girls noticed the Italian horn around my neck.

They asked if I’m Italian. I said maybe; I found this in my Mom’s stuff and really wanted to wear it.

I didn’t explain Mom’s stuff and they didn’t ask. But they — and the guy — and I all started talking a million miles a minute about Bravo housewives and Kamala and Joe Biden and what a fuckup Trump is to live by.

I told them my theory on Taylor Swift getting married to Travis is in London. I also told them my theory on how JD Vance will never be president; Orange Fuck will hand it to Don Jr. if we let him get in power.

And on and on. It was so exhilarating.

OH and they liked my Stevie Nicks ears too. So I am glad I kept them.

Anyway I was trying to remember everyone’s names and Chloe, Sam, Sophia or Marcus came to mind, since we are all Swifties.

Matty and Rachel and Terra Dawn. And this Dawn!

They asked if I wanted to go on Soarin’ with them. Um, HELL YEAH I wanted to go on Soarin’ for the third time that day.

We went to a bar afterward (for them) and I scouted out a great fireworks spot. I warned them that I would cry and they are like girl, we love art and beauty. We will be crying with you.

The fireworks were amazing. And “When She Loved Me” came on, I recorded it again.

And there was this amazing dancing orb and some other energy in the shot.

I swear to god it was not there for the naked eye to see.

And it was not in any of the photos I took before or after.

Momma was with us. I know she was. I am so thankful for that.

She is in the wind and on my shoulder and everywhere I look.

I once saw a video of a woman getting bridal pictures done and she had a similar orb dancing all over her dress. Everyone said it was her mom.

So, further proof that the little yellow light who was dancing around like Star danced around Asha in “Wish” was my beloved momma.

After the fireworks — and the waterworks, of course — we all exchanged Instagrams and I noticed two of them followed me instantly. Enjoyed fireworks together and ended with a big group hug.

They asked me to join them for a post-Epcot drink. But I told them I was worried that Bella was bellowing for the whole fourth floor of the hotel to hear again.

They said hey if you are ever in Boston, New York or, hell, Orlando again, you are one of us now. We got you.

I thanked them for adopting me. I also said I think I manifested you all. I was wishing for friends and for a reason to visit New York and maybe see a Broadway play on Broadway for a change. And Matty said he just saw “The Notebook.” Which is the one I want to see next!

The girls wandered off but Matty wanted another hug. And I felt like I should tell him.

I said you guys said I’m so cool and brave for being here by myself. That I just got in the car with my cats for a fun weekend.

Truth is my Momma just died and I have not spoken to another human or FELT human until tonight.

Thank you for giving me a few hours to just be myself again. I love you all very much and I hope you all get home safely.

I changed into goddesses, villains and fools

Changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules

All to outrun my desertion of you

And you just watched it

If you want to break my cold, cold heart

Just say, ‘I loved you the way that you were’

If you want to tear my world apart

Just say you’ve always wondered.

It was the first night I cried all the way home that it wasn’t in utter and complete sadness.

I mean, that will ALWAYS be there.

But, it was out of my mouth before it had congealed in my head.

It felt so good to talk about something other than work or much I miss my Mom.

Granted, talking about work and Mom are the only things that come naturally anymore.

But it was fun to just be Dawn again for two hours.

Went to Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party on Mom’s birthday Friday night.

And guess what, it got rained out.

It was a horrible day. Sitting at the bar — Mom’s and my bar –alone last night made something absolutely snap in me.

My beaded Fitbit band that she bought me broke. Like hello sign. She would be so sad.

The workday started out typical. Fridays are scream-worthy on their best days. Then people outside my department start to dream up extra projects for us that cannot wait.

And then the stuff that IS in our control goes sideways. And those outside people say dumb shit like, “Are you going to send an alert?” Like, multiple times a day from multiple directions,

There are two possible answers for “Are you going to send an alert?”

One, no. (Because do you really want me to cause a riot and make member care’s life hell for no reason.)

Two, yes. (Because, I do not need you to tell me to get off my ass and help member care’s life from becoming hell.)

If we are all here to tell other departments how to do their jobs, I would be delighted to return the favor. I used to love my job till doing everyone else’s became a thing.

Anyway, I got all my work ready by 3:30 so I could go to Magic Kingdom for 4.

Well. I got on the tram at 4:15. Got on the Monorail at 4:30.

Got OFF the Monorail at 5:15.

Because shit started blowing up so bad that I was texting (no I am not sending an alert NOW; OK FINE I will send an alert NOW) and completely missing my stop.

TL;DR the SEC ruined the sending of two publications tonight. After ruining basically the past two weeks of my life, indirectly.

I always joke that “If I were ED” — shit, I want to tattoo that.

Well, today, I am joking, “If I were EDgar” — since it was EDGAR who crapped on my Not So Scary Halloween Parade.

WHICH … after murdering my battery on the work stuff, the event got rained out.

The parade started an hour late.

Then the Hocus Pocus spectacular literally got through two songs before the announcer said “hexing” inclement weather ruined that.

I tried to hang on for fireworks, But naturally, the rain got to me and I got on the (Express, thankfully) Monorail.

Which … the fireworks started when we pulled into the station for MK parking.

So we have ED and MK departments at work. I run ED. MK runs the world. I really hate that I can’t write MK for Magic Kingdom without getting hives.

I am not kidding about the hives. My legs are broken out after today. Though maybe that’s because Magic hides in my bed all day. I have gone through three lint rollers but that little shit has left his mark. Whilst Bella has destroyed all the other furniture.

In any event, I did not want to work today because I knew it would be a horrible day.

Full day, half day, whatever — I didn’t want to deal with anyone. Not even the people I like.

I texted my cousin, who just had her mom’s first heavenly birthday on 8/1, and I said man I am sorry I didn’t reach out more. I did not realize how fucking AWFUL it was.

She knows the characters who usually make me want to order bodybags. But today I said, my god, it’s the people I LIKE who are making me look bad.

She said they were probably always that messy but my tolerance is shot today.

Anyway, from being sad and depressed and stressed out and then the Big Thing that was supposed to happen at work on the 22nd (but, SEC) but got punted to the 31st and now to the 6th (hi, regulators!) … is being moved to Monday.

And not only did I spend a good quarter of my day on this project, but my entire staff stayed till 7:30 first to make it happen and then second to completely redo the plans as I walked around a park with dwindling phone battery and NO GODDAMNED ALCOHOL.

When I finally dragged my wet ass home, I went to the hotel bar at 11:11 … and it had closed at 11.

I texted my mom’s friend that I want to die. I am sad and I miss my mom and there has GOT to be more to this life than living in my town and dying at my computer.

She made some weird comment back that tells me she’s jealous of my life. Which she was always jealous of Mom, her whole life.

And I made some comment that I paid for most of this trip with credit card points. And she sounded envious of THAT too.

Anyway.

I really needed to whine. I mean, I know Psycho is out there so glad I’m having a bad run of luck. Probably Cindy too.

But unlike them, I will not dwell for 20 years on it all. I will figure out how to be happy again. How to be grateful again. How to LIVE again. And they will just be the losers who should have left this earth because no one will love them the way I loved my Momma and she loved me.

In the meantime, I am just so bummed that it was a miserable day for her birthday.

I expected no less, mind you. And it still beats being miserable at home.

But I just feel like I wasted her honor, not having the bandwidth to miss her more when all I wanted to do is die myself.

“Your integrity makes me seem small
You paint dreamscapes on the wall
I talk shit with my friends, it’s like I’m wasting your honor.”

Happy birthday, Momma.

I wasn’t sure how to commemorate it. We all know I just couldn’t be at home, so I needed to run away to the Haus of Maus.

Which would have been a great trip if I didn’t have to work. But, those emails aren’t going to send themselves.

I took myself to see the new “Beetlejuice” movie yesterday. Which was so fun.

When I came out of the AMC, it was raining again. It has rained every day of my trip. And I have worn more ponchos and stepped in more “street soup” than I care to count.

In any event, I couldn’t stomach another wet poncho day, so I drove to I-Drive with the intention of going to Mellow Mushroom.

But as luck (my luck, so Irish) would have it, “Dead Mom” came on shuffle. Christ.

So I pulled into Delmonico’s and said what the hell.

I wasn’t thinking birthday. I could very clearly hear Momma saying, “Treat yourself. You’ll regret it if you didn’t. Use my green card, honey.”

I still carry her green debit card in my wallet. I closed that account but it sits with her driver’s license in a zippered pouch. I worry more about losing those more any of my active cards.

I got our favorite, the Dirty Martini. Unlike our last visit together, it was SO good. I had one and then had one for Momma.

I took a pic of the last booth we sat in. We picked it so that we could hide her little walker out of the way.

I think this one (below) was our favorite booth. Back corner by the bathroom. At least, it was the one we picked 90% of the time.

We often got the seasonal cheesecake. I always tried to get there in November because Momma loved pumpkin best.

As luck would have it, the September cheesecake is peanut butter. So I didn’t have to think twice about ordering it to celebrate Momma with.

As for food, well, that was the source of a nervous breakdown on my part.

We always sat at the bar because Delmonico’s has the most amazing bar menu ever. But I got there after happy hour, which, I didn’t know there was a time limit on our favorite snacks.

Seriously, I used to spend $150 on bar food and martinis for us. You could trust us to make up for any discounts.

My bartender was amazing. Drinks were amazing. I wish Mom’s last Dirty Martini there was amazing but at least the food was great.

But when I said may I have the filet sandwich with greens, she said I needed to order two.

I asked her to repeat that. She said I can do it but it’s past happy hour so I have to put an order in for two.

The tears fell straight out of my head. And wouldn’t stop.

I said, “I used to come here with my mom. We always ordered two.”

She said, “I’ll give you a moment.”

I thought about getting my sandwich and giving the other to the cats.

But I did something I never did there other than on a date. I ordered my own meal.

I got the filet, which was exquisite. And a side of penne marinara — mom’s favorite sauce/pasta, and we often took home an order so she could have it the next day. And of course greens.

I tipped the gal all the cash in my wallet. She looked over so grateful. I said you’ve put up with me so beautifully. Thank you for making this easier on me.

Everything over the past three months has been so hard. So freaking hard.

But I told Momma in my head, sitting at that bar without her was the hardest yet.

Harder than watching her die.

Harder than cremating her.

Harder than watching doctors and nurses and hospice workers treat her like a throwaway.

Harder than hearing her say no more treatments and having to sit quiet because it was her decision and my job was to support her since no one else would.

She will always be young and beautiful. I’ve said this before.

But now, I will say she will always be young and beautiful and sipping a Dirty Martini at the bar at our favorite Orlando steakhouse.

Better days …

Even if I never get back here, I’ll always remember her happy.

I told my cousin, a doctor, that I’m working on vacation.

She said Goddess, I only work on vacation because there are some clients I cannot help but check in on because they are dying.

That was like getting walloped with a walleye across the face.

I’m like well two of us are off so we’re both working part-time so the other doesn’t have to carry the whole load. But I’ll carry the load next week so she can enjoy a week.

My cousin’s like and when is YOUR week? And don’t you get like four weeks anyway?

It’s not the job, to be clear. It’s my job to take the time, for starters, and to TAKE THE TIME once that time is taken off.

I get to thinking about some of those final conversations with Mom. And how she was so happy for me to have landed back where I am. But that she never, ever wants me to be so comfortable that it becomes a stopping point.

I don’t really know what’s next for me if this ends or if I decide to end it.

But I do see where I would be a lot healthier if I were outside and not using my “time off” simply to keep up.

I sure hope tomorrow is the last birthday of hers where I have to work even if I don’t want to.

And don’t think I’m not sitting in this hotel with two yowling cats thinking about how I should have spent her final birthday fully and completely present with her.

And definitely don’t think I’m enjoying my trip as much as the money I’ve spent on it suggests I need to.

Anyone who expects me to come back rested … might want to adjust that expectation now.