Break me

B

July 29, 2013

Dear mom,

Today was a day, and today I feel like talking to you today. Today was another day that you weren't here.

Today, I didn't really do anything. I actually just finished this really good, really really spicy volcano burrito from Taco Bell. You would not have liked it. It was so hot; it would have made your nose start running just from smelling it. That is why I liked it so much. It was the best thing I have eaten all week. And I loved it.

I'll let you in on a little secret. Ready for it? Okay. None of the food that I eat tastes very good anymore. I mean it.

My butterscotch pudding cup tastes like medicine. My strawberry apple sauce tastes like soap. And my mixed berry koolaid tastes kind of like blood. It's ew. It tastes gross.

I end up having to brush my teeth a lot. Because, ever since you died, I have been left with this bad taste in my mouth. My mouth tastes like metal. It makes me sick. I brush my teeth after dinner. By the time I'm ready for bed, I want to brush my teeth again, just to get rid of the sickly iron taste on my tongue.

So I'm brushing my teeth five times a day. I hate the taste of toothpaste, but I like it better than the bad taste in my mouth.

You know I'm blaming it on you. I did not have a bad taste in my mouth before you had to die.

My cereal tastes like cardboard. My oranges taste like blood. My bread tastes like dirt. My peas and carrots remind me of vomit. I even get sick of water. See how hard this is for me?

But that fire burrito. My lips are still burning from it. Burning hot. Somehow, that was the best thing I have had for a while.

 I am noticing a pattern. It seems that all the foods you used to feed me as a kid- that perfectly balanced meal with one serving of fruit, two servings of vegetables, a deck of card sized meat serving, a dairy serving, and a protein serving -that is the food that makes me wish I was sick. That is the food that tastes like blood and dirt and vomit.

But my spicy burrito, hotdogs, pop, ice cream, all of that stuff makes me feel better. And it tastes fine.

I remember the day you got diagnosed with cancer. I remember it really really well. It's like I can remember my bad memories the best. Weird. I was only eight when you were diagnosed with cancer.

Um, when was it? Was it like March? April? May? I was still in school. I was eight, so that means I'd have been in third grade. You home schooled me back then. I remember the day so well.

We-me, my sisters, and my brother- we had swim lessons that morning. In case you didn't know, I hated those dumb swim lessons. Our swim lessons were at the YMCA, and the water was always cold. I hated being cold back then. Nowadays, I love shivering.

Anyways, I remember for years, you were coughing and stuff. You always told me it was asthma, but it obviously wasn't. So you went to the doctor a lot. You wanted to know what was wrong with you. We had swim lessons on the day that you found out what was wrong with you.

Grandma, your mother,  took us, your children, to swim lessons that day. I remember being kind of antsy. I remember asking Grandma, "What do you think is wrong with mommy?"

"I don't know." She told me.

"Do you think it's something bad?" I'm evil. I hoped it was something that would let me miss a couple days of school. But believe me, I didn't really want it to be something serious. I just thought that if you were sick with the flu or something, you would let us have a break from that boring home school that you made me do. In the end, I did get to miss some school though. I missed two days. I missed one day for crying, right after the day you died, and one day for your funeral.