So my mom was crazy.

At least, that's how I would describe it. Nobody said it officially. We all knew she had turned weird around my middle school days. Saying random stuff about holes and taking you on long rants. As if she had a psychotic episode. And that was fine I guess, it simmered down...

And she stop taking her meds and developed a sort of nomad lifestyle with simple dress, no TV watching, and taking long walks to random places. She never lifted a hand at the house. I wonder what she resented, because you could feel something was there. She would always be acting gracious and smiling her fake smile. Her tight lipped Swiss smile. Only Americans show their donkey teeth. What a spirit of presentation and falsehood.

She died at 60 from cancer on her eyebrow and ear that spread to her brain. It was over pretty quickly, thankfully. But she's still did sometimes yell and rant. On her best behavior when we visited, she told my then 4-year-old daughter that "death isn't real". And I mean, there is a valid point to that, but you're going to seriously whisper it to a child?

One of the few things she probably ever said directly to her.

Let's talk about how my mom talked.

She would talk to you for long stretches of time even if you completely disengaged and ignored her and turned away from her not moving a single muscle in your face or body. She would continue. She spoke like a master web weaver. But instead of a web, she was like a ring-tailed lemur leaping from crab to crag across canyons. If you're going to follow her, you better be quick. And I lost the trail The few times I tried. And she wouldn't track with you, or she wouldn't care. And if you were to ask her a clarifying question, it got stonewalled. So fuck that, I'm not going to talk to you if you are not going to talk to me.

And she wasn't actually talking to me. Because she wasn't actually looking at me. I remember once watching her eyes as she spoke to me, in a sort of sullen scientific observation. She truly was not looking at me. Her eyes blinked like a sick mouse. Overwhelmed with so much pain that she could not entertain the terror of observing another human soul for a moment.

She never asked me any questions that weren't statements. (Not that I spent too much time around here. That I hate to say.)

But you couldn't fault her for much. She was like a helpless but harmless positive soul. And when she opened her mouth she didn't usually speak bad about anyone. Unless it was to chastise my dad by calling him a squirrel or say something random about some politician.

It sucks she didn't give a fuck about us. It's like she stopped giving a fuck a long time ago about us. She seems like the kind of bird who would lay her egg and leave it. And somehow my dad convinced her to have five kids. Or, I don't know exactly what the plan was, or who was involved, besides the obvious. I don't want to accuse my dad frivolously. For all we know, they were both stupid at the same time. I wouldn't put it past them!

So was I born to two stupid parents? Absolutely not. They were both very cunning and intelligent. And I know which is which. However, when you don't know how to communicate well and express your feelings in a genuine and healthy way — it makes you end up looking very stupid in very many ways.

Obviously, we as children only log your faults. It's only after we're 35 that we start wondering about your virtues. Or maybe I'm a rare case.