MOM.
Mom?
MOMMMMM!!!
HELLO?
She’s probably reading a damn book.
Sure enough, if you weren’t responding, you were somewhere in the house, utterly lost in another novel.
I could’ve told you I saw Santa, who handed me a ticket to Australia with aliens to sell gift cards in Oz, and you’d mutter, “Cool,” while 32 layers deep into another world. The rest of us were still stuck on layer 1, trying to get your attention.
Family trip to Florida? Books packed? Of course. Toothbrush? Questionable.
But that was you.
Your library wasn’t just bookshelves—it was a shrine to your curiosity, proof you wouldn’t leave a single story unread. If I pointed to a book, you could tell me the plot and how many times you’d read it.
Meanwhile, I can count the books I’ve truly enjoyed on one hand: Ender’s Game and Calvin and Hobbes.
But guess what, Mom? I’m writing books now—two done, one in progress. Can you believe it? I still love storytelling. Remember when you found “my writing” in 1994, sat me and Dad down to talk about my surprising space-themed story, only for me to admit, “Those aren’t mine—they’re the lyrics to Live’s Lightning Crashes”?
This one’s a collection of jaw-dropping, “you can’t make this up” stories backed by texts, emails, and lawyer accounts, and it also includes other’s contributions. It’s raw, real, and meant to shine a light on how the truth will destroy these people and to heed the warnings from others, that were there all along. The artwork? Emotional and abstract. It’s meant to be like a choose-your-own-adventure experience where the way out is the best part. And this story isn’t done because we have a gift for them soon, hahahahaha.
A kids’ book—poetic reflections on life and grief. I haven’t figured out the illustrations yet, but I wish you could help direct them. Honestly, you’d probably just do it yourself while I played Sega. The tone? Somber but joyful—a tribute to finding beauty in memories even during sorrow. Some passages are yours, Mom.
The books you read will never outnumber the memories you gave me. My mental library is full of stories you wrote with your actions, love, and presence—even when you were lost in a book.
I still flip through those pages, smiling and tearing up at the stories you gave me. I just wish we could add more volumes.
The kids need you right now, as they grow. They’re surrounded by love—cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. We’re lucky to share in little moments: quick visits, family dinners, outings. There’s so much joy. I hold onto that joy, even as your absence lingers.
I still cook your spaghetti with bacon recipe—a lot. It’s a small tradition that keeps you here with us.
But it’s not enough. I miss you. I love you. I always will.
The angel opens her eyes
Pale blue colored iris
Presents the circle
Puts the glory out to hide.
❤️
Jake