Isn't that how it always goes? You don't know what you've got 'til paradise gets paved and you're surrounded by parking lots. Ah, I think I've mastered the Art of of the Paraphrase, finally.
I've spent hours with my father on the phone discussing the situation, the strain of dealing with my severely mentally ill mother and her constant search for me. That's right, I live in hiding from my little old Italian lady Mamma, like some incompetent-spy-meets-hapless-family-history tale. A story full of sound and fury and significant sadness.
Pappy's the only witness I have, the only one who truly knows the many faces my mother wears because he's seen them too. What a tangled web is weaved simply trying to stay out of the sight lines of someone suffering from severe psychosis and a personality disorder—I have no answers, even after all this time, after all these years.
I come back to writing, making order from chaos, living the best possible life I can with a chronically ill mother on my mind—buzzing around in the background, the constant hum of worrying white noise. And listening to Pappy's sage advice:
"Live life day by day. You dunno, you think today is bad and maybe tomorrow is come worse. When you wake up you should be look in mirror and say I gonna do my best. Think for youself this -
You no kill nobody. You no cheats the people. You has the human rights to be happy too."
Couldn't have said it better myself. Keep calm, buy some cake, find a theme song, and carry on.