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Four Years Later

By September 5, 2013Depression

I used to keep a notation in my calendar about the last day I saw my mother alive. It was a Sunday. We had just attended a service in Bridgeport for my grandfather, about one year later or something like that. I had come with David in his car, and the original plan was to have brunch or something following, but for some reason it fell apart.

I recall being antsy. The weekend hadn’t gone according to plan, or even remotely close to it, and I was ready to go home at this point because of the indecision. There were issues back in Orange, and I was done with the drama. There were always issues in Orange. I just wanted to have a nice brunch with David and Mom.

David also had some plans to meet up with some friends in CT and, I think, stay an extra night. I asked him to bring me to the Bridgeport train station and just drop me off. We hung out outside the train station, and if I recall correctly, we both decided to just call it quits and head back to the city together. I remember having a fine talk that drive back about our mother and possible options like having her move to the city nearer to us and a new beginning.

And that was it. The last time you see somebody. The person responsible for your entire existence… a simple goodbye, “No, I don’t want to go back to Orange, I am going back to New York.” “When am I going to see you again?” she said.

“Soon,” I probably replied.

Turns out it would be never again.

Gia
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