Diary of a Black Lion (The Book of Mitchell Dee)

Mom.

Mother, there's so much I wish I could condense down into words and just spew my guts out to you with. But, the reality is that I can't. Yet. There's just too much to say.

Above all, first and foremost, I love you. You gave me life and loved me growing up. Even now you still do. I think I get a lot of my quirks and personality traits from you.

I worry about your health, though. Some nights I've had bad dreams relating to you dying a premature death. We both know that you don't take good care of yourself like you should. You're a Diabetic and it shows with great apparence.

Mom, I wish you'd do better and take your quality of life more seriously. I don't like the nightmares I have of you not making it past your 60's. Usually, dreams have some sort of truth or message to them. So, that's all the more reason for me to get weary and afraid. For your sake and mine.

I want you to be around when my first child is born. I want you to be the great grandma I know you're very capable of being. I know you want to meet and hold them. Please, don't end up like your mom, my grandma, who was half Native American, who died before I was born just months before. It killed me and half my potential culture I could've learned.

There are times, Mom, I worry if you're slowly losing the will to live. Like, you're not even there a lot. Maybe it's early Dementia . . . I don't know.

Sometimes I wish I visited you more, Mom. But I get busy. I wish I had made more time at times. But I'm trying.

I just get so tired and worn out from work/life and you call at random times asking me to take you somewhere when I JUST get off or out of the blue early on a day off of mine without prior notice.

I love you, Mom. But I worry about you.