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March 18, 2008



I can't imagine not having a loving mother. What horrors you must have grown up with, and for that I wish I could give you all the hugs a good mother would have given you. I don't know what it is you've just "lost" honey, but whatever it is I hope you're okay. Please accept the love of a friend, and my cyber hugs.




sometimes words aren't needed


This whole post was too close to home for me, almost with a deja vu feel too it shug. I understand completely and totally. I cried copious amounts of tears when my mother passed. I was 22 and truly was crying for a mother, any mother who was a "real" mother would have done over the years.

Kelley Bell

My dear sweet friend, your writing brings me to tears. Every gift this world has to offer you deserve ten fold.

And somehow, I will find a way to bring light to your life. Somehow, some way, I will.


I've got a hug for ya.


Although it may sound counterintuitive and cynical, it is too often the case that some Mothers don't deserve love. They are what they do and in direct correlation reap what the sow.


Your mother sounds a lot like mine. I cried when she died, but out of relief. I used to have surrogate moms as a kid... other people's moms that I wished had been my own. I think that's just what you do. You look for subs. I was also very fortunate because I adored my dad and the feeling was mutual. That made up for a lot. But one still needs a mother. To this day I wonder if I never had children because deep down I was afraid of becoming my own mother. Kind of a creepy thought.

Find a place for all that baggage, my dear. Otherwise you will be traveling with it for a long time. It sounds like you have dealt amazingly well with it. I think the only forgiveness you can allow your mom is the fact that she was the product of an even worse mother.

Many people say you can't forgive if you can't forget. Sometimes I think the reverse is true. I managed to find some peace by just thinking "O.K., she hurt me immeasurably, but it's over, she can't hurt me now. I know I will never forget it, but I can learn to put it aside and get on with my life."

Each person is different though, as are their lives. I have a lot of admiration for you, and you are certainly a survivor. Think of your friends as your surrogate moms. (((( )))))


After reading this I had tears in my eyes. Just thought I would say that you gave a voice to an ache I felt myself, unfortunatly many others have too. I have know many good mothers to, redemptively; my wife at the top of the list. Doesn't take away all the hurt, but hope has a place. Bless you for writing it!! thanks for the referance( painting)

The Fat Lady Sings

Dear Glenn –

Sorry it took me so long to reply to your kind comment. I certainly didn’t mean to be rude. I’ve been somewhat indisposed. You see – several years ago I had two very bad accidents that left me in a great deal of pain. There are times when that pain rather takes control of my life, I’m afraid. I disappear into a haze of medication. Cogent thought just isn’t possible. It’s often everything I can do to simply put one foot in front of the other.

So please accept my heartfelt (albeit tardy) thanks for your gracious warmth and insight. I certainly didn’t mean to use your work without permission. It’s just that the image spoke to me – all of your work does. They are very lonely, you know – your images. Beautiful, yes - but isolated, forlorn; well, to me at least. That’s why that particular piece so perfectly illustrated my recollections. It spoke to the heart of the matter – the disconnect I felt as a child constantly surrounded by a heartbreak of loons.

You’re from my home town, you know. My family moved there from New York when I was very little. Back in the 60’s it was home to a large Italian and Portuguese population – mostly older folks, immigrants from ‘the old country’. I was one of the few kids – and Irish to boot. It proved an interesting mix. Our little neighborhood used to be farm land. The original farmhouse still stood actually - just a couple doors down - surrounded by an acre of pomegranate and avocado trees. It’s been years since I’ve visited. Too many complicated memories.

So thank you – thank you very much. I worked in the theatre before my accidents: actor/director/ designer. Now I write. The artistic expression remains the same – only the vehicle has changed. Maybe someday I’ll be able to capture humanities inner life as well as do you. It would be nice to subsist by (metaphorical) pen alone.

The Fat Lady Sings

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