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.