My mother never told me to try my best to be someone important in the world. It may seem mean at first, but my mother knew me; she knew I was an unorganized, impatient girl with a short-attention span. See, my mother didn't tell me stupid lies that would propel my hopes and dreams up, only to have them slammed down because I wasn't mentally fit to see them through. That's what I loved about her: her straightforwardness. She'd never lie to you just to give you courage and self-esteem; no, you'd have to create that yourself. This was what made my mom the best mom in the world.
Now the best mom in the world is dead.
I didn't cry at her funeral. In fact, I didn't even attend her funeral. Why? because I didn't want to see her warm, soft skin, cold with death, or her warm, clear eyes, cloudy with resent.
It also didn't help that before she died, we were on horrible terms.
She had informed me of my engagement. I snapped, because what sane 13-year old would simply say "Ok Ma, looking forward to living in a house with people who I've never known before! I'll go pack my bags now." I even threw a vase at her (which missed:I never had the best hand-to-eye coordination). So weeks passed, with me not acknowledging her existence. I was pissed, and she was depressed. Which, was understandable, because I had never thrown a vase at her before, nonetheless raised my voice to her.
But I swear, if I knew what would've happened next, I would've apologized over and over and over again, until I couldn't speak anymore. See, my mother had cancer. And she was dying. At least that's what they had said what was happening when they took her from her workplace, due to her sudden collapse. I was going to visit her, the next day, but just like that, she died.
But I wasn't sad.I'm not sad now, I wasn't sad then. But, I suppose I owe her something, anything, for being such an ass of a daughter.
And thats why I'm traveling to the Trancy Estate.