Greetings my feral and bright ones,

The sun has set here in Tucson on Mother’s Day. It is a day that has been a ghost in my house since 2005, and after this week, the ghost has grown teeth. I’m just going to say it: Fuck Mother’s Day.

I have hated this day for over two decades. I have been alienated from my own daughters since 2005, and every year this day rolls around, it is a searing reminder of that hollow space and the pain of being a mother who isn’t allowed to be one. And now, to have this happen during this specific week? It is a heavy, sad, and violently conflicted heart I carry tonight. My mother passed away between May 2nd and May 4th, and I am left standing in the wreckage of a day that already felt like a battlefield.

I don’t know where she is. Maybe she is everywhere; maybe she is nowhere. All I know is the cold, hard reality that I am the one left behind. I am the one in charge of the pieces she left. I am on bereavement until Tuesday. I barely ate from Monday to Friday, and I have barely slept at all. I am writing this with absolute exhaustion, deep grief, and something I don’t know what else to call—maybe relief.

The Silence That Screamed

Last Sunday, I did what I always do. I called her. No answer. I figured, “Eh, she’ll call me back.” She never did. I called two more times. Nothing. I went to bed and texted her: “If you see this I love you and will call you tomorrow. Sleep well.” I didn’t know then that I was texting a person who no longer existed on this plane. She never responded.

By 4:00 AM Monday, the “mush” in my brain began to harden into panic. I called her seven more times. I called and left a message begging her apartment management for a welfare check—but I was met with a silence that felt like a betrayal.

Finally, I called the police department. At 11:37 AM, the call came from the sergeant. I will never forget the sound of his voice. He told me his two officers found her in her apartment. She was GONE. No life left in her. My world seemed to stop right there. Ronnie was right here with me—he lives with me and was by my side for every agonizing second of that call.

Anchors, Betrayals, and My True Tribe

I called the people who are my real circle: Vickie, Gail, Kimmy, Amanda, Heather, Tania, Leah, and Erin. They have been my anchors. They are my coven, my tribe, my sisters, and my spirit sisters. They are through all time, eternity, and more.

While they were holding me up, I found out that Danny has not been the support system I believed him to be. He apparently spent a great amount of time talking to the Void, supporting her behind my back. And then there’s my cousin Taylor. Talk about betrayal. To be the one doing the work while they are whispering with the person attacking me… huh?? It feels like the ground is moving under my feet.

And then, there is my sister Ginni—or as I will call her now: THE VOID.

Her response was a wall of coldness: “I feel nothing about it.” She told me she couldn’t be close to me because “you are abusive too.” Then came the texts accusing me of letting our mother “lay around dead” while I was actually the one coordinating everything.

The coroner didn’t even call me. I had to call them. When I finally got through, they said they had no idea they were supposed to call me at all. Even the morgue told me I could take a day to just breathe—they told me there was no rush. But the Void wanted it done right away. She was more interested in seeing a dead body for her “closure” than she was in the fact that our mother was gone. FUCK HER. Mom told me her wishes over and over again. We were close these last two years, and she made sure I knew what she wanted. You don’t get to gatekeep a woman you abandoned.

The Cord is Cut

I am mourning that I will never have the relationship that I should have with the Void as sisters. We never had that loving relationship. Maybe when we were kids, but even then, it was hard being her big sister. But I have realized something: she is just a DNA sister, a fleeting moment in time.

I did a “dead to me” cord-cutting spell against her. She is officially dead to me. The cord is severed. I am finished with the on-and-off, the psychotic attempts to fix things, and the venom. My spirit sisters and soul sisters are my real family now—the ones who exist through all eternity. She is just a ghost of biology.

Choosing Beauty Over the Basics

I was the one who looked at the details. While THE VOID would have chosen a basic, cold box for the cremation, I chose a beautiful, satin-lined coffin-style box for her. I wanted her to be surrounded by something soft and elegant.

I sat through a FaceTime call with Shadelle, watching as she went through the apartment so I could see what was there. I saw Mom’s personal effects, her photo albums, her Bibles, and a bracelet. I’m the one who planned an online memorial so that friends and family could attend and say goodbye properly.

I chose a small keepsake for myself—a pink heart that will hold some of her ashes. I am sending a small urn to the Void, but that is it. The rest of her remains will come home to me here in Tucson. I will take her up to Mt. Lemmon and scatter her ashes while the two songs she wanted are played. That was her wish.

The War in the Screenshots

Today, I spent hours scrolling. I went back to 2016 on Mom’s Facebook, taking screenshot after screenshot. I saw the posts where she called me “abusive” or “mentally messed up.” I’ve lived through abuse, and I don’t know if it was both sides or just her side or the Void’s side—I just know it was there.

I am questioning if I am a shit wife, daughter, friend, and sister. Honestly, right now, I cannot say that I am not. I feel like I’ve failed everything. Am I really that bad of a person?

But I have to stand on the truth.

I don’t do drugs. I don’t “whore” myself out. I haven’t had a drink in two years. I am not on mental health medications. I have never physically abused anyone. The picture being painted of me in those old posts isn’t reality.

I kept spiraling until Heather called me and told me to stop. She reminded me that the person I was looking at in those screenshots isn’t the woman I am today—or ever was. Ronnie has been saying that to me all week long, and so did Gail and Vickie. They see me. They know the truth of my character.

And the truth is, the screenshots weren’t all bad. Mom did have some posts praising me as well, especially over the last two years. Those are the moments I have to cling to—the moments where she saw me, loved me, and was proud of the daughter I had become.

Freedom and Forgiveness

Mom is no longer fighting her demons. She is no longer living with her past. She is free herself now.

And as for me? I am not holding onto resentments, regrets, or bitterness. I am choosing to forgive. I am choosing to grieve and mourn without letting those old poisons take root in me. Hopefully soon, I will be able to feel happiness and joy again. But for now, it is all I can do to just breathe.

The ashes are coming. The death certificates are coming. I still have to call the utilities, the bank, the housing authority, and the storage unit to release it all. The work isn’t done.

Right now, I am not sure if the only voice in my head is what matters. It’s crowded in there with the voices of people who betrayed me and the mother I just lost. But I am a survivor who stayed until the lights went out.

I’m going to take a breath now. Not because the work is done, but because I finally have the right to the air I breathe. Fuck Mother’s Day, and fuck the Void. I am still here.