I'm in Vegas. My dad's thought was that it's 24 hours a day, no one knows us, and we are all comfortable here. All true. Doesn't really make it better. We talked last night about how everywhere we turn, there she is. Never in my 20 someodd years of coming here do I ever remember rain, or overcast skys really, but that's how it is. And it's just in the 60's. Her favorite weather.

We ate in a restaurant last night that we have always eaten at, Kokomo's at the Mirage, and they had completely remodeled it-wasn't even in the same location in the hotel. We talked about wanting to tell her about how different it looks and things that she would have liked...like the face that there were now wide armless chairs, which are very fat friendly.

I have grown up with my grandma talking about things that her mother did and said; and things that she would have liked or that she would have disapproved of, so I know that I am in for a long road of memories popping up everywhere. And I'm ok with that--I'm the girl who hasn't lived in Hobbs in 8 years, but still talks about it everyday...ha ha. But I don't want this to all happen in vain. I don't want her death to be in vain. I keep thinking about writing a book.

Now, I am by no means an expert on the topic of death, mental illness, or anything else for that matter. I read an artile yesterday written by a woman who lost her husband on 9/11 and she talked a lot about just because it hit her close to home, that she is by no means an expert on terrorism, public policy, or anything else in that realm. And I agree. Except for the fact that the human spirit lives to have companionship. We are pack animals, so to speak, and we like to know what others experience. We like to look at someone else and say "Ohh, she has it much worse than me." or "That is exactly how I feel!" SO my mind is still spinning and most of my thoughts are incomplete. Easily distracted. But my incomplete thought right now is that I'm going to write a book about my life with my mom. And about this disease that took her life. People are still very afraid of mental illness. And that won't change until there are better treatments and we stop alienating the mentally ill. Until the stigma is gone and it's looked at like diabetes or cancer. Mental illness used to be looked at as a character flaw within the person. That is somewhat better today; but it is still looked at as an undesirable attribute. And it shouldn't be that way. So I'm working on what to do with all my thoughts, ideas, and sadness. I need to make something positive out of it--because that's the only way I'm going to get through each day missing her.

I'm off, my room service is here. Then I'm going to the art museum here at the Bellagio. I've always wanted to do it, and my mom has always said "maybe next time" because she didn't ever really want to go. Sadly, I don't have to consider that anymore.

Last Friday I talked to my mom on my way to work and she asked to spend the night with me. One week later, on Friday night, I am home from her funeral in Hobbs. People, humans, are resiliant...but life is fragile. And mental illness is this devil. I kept telling people that I was fine, because I always am. God is always with me and I am at peace with that. I also told them that the true test would be once I was home and alone. And I'm not doing so well with this test. I can rationally confort myself; but I am having a hard time calming my mind. I can't get some really horrible images out of my head. I can't stop wondering what her face looked like with a gun in her mouth. I can't stop wondering what her last thought was. I want to know if she was scared or sad or so crazy that she was peaceful. I know she knew that I loved her dearly, but I want to know if she knew it then.

I'm not spell checking because I'm crying to hard to do so...sorry grammar queens.

Could someone please blog. I keep getting on here as a diversion from reality and there is nothing new. Post pictures, post a me-me, something.