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  You could have a big dipper   

My Mother Didn’t: by Christopher P. Mooney

CW: Death, grief

  • My mother didn’t know I moved to England, which really isn’t much different.

  • My mother didn’t see me drive a car.

  • My mother didn’t visit my home.

  • My mother didn’t find out about my chronic illness. It plagues me still.

  • My mother didn’t attend my wedding, where I spilled cheap champagne all over my sister-in-law’s expensive dress just after giving a speech that was mostly drowned out by my cousin’s baby’s crying. Her name – the baby’s name – is Ramona. She’s twelve now.

  • My mother didn’t care that I had last-minute doubts and considered running away with one of the waitresses.

  • My mother didn’t meet her six grandchildren, who would surely have adored and been adored by her.

  • My mother didn’t grieve for her eldest son, whose death at forty haunts my every waking moment.

  • My mother didn’t worry about my mental health, which is undeniably fragile.

  • My mother didn’t help me when I got divorced. I wonder what she would have made of the fact I didn’t try hard enough to keep the cats.

  • My mother didn’t see me run, infrequently, slowly, but with that determination she so admired.

  • My mother didn’t stand a chance against cancer.

  • My mother didn’t tell me she was dying.

  • My mother didn’t know I really loved her?

  • My mother didn’t reach her sixty-second birthday.


Christopher P. Mooney lives and writes in someone else's small flat near London, via Glasgow and Paris. Find him online as @ChrisPatMooney

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