I don’t understand what’s happening. Your mom can’t be alive one minute and then the next…not. Those things, I’m like those things you use to stoke a fire, what people used to use, those things with handles that kind of look like water bottles. Bellows. My chest heaves up and down, like a bellows. I want my mom to get up off that fucking table and hug me as hard as she can, even if it hurts me. She doesn’t.
