The other day someone was talking about my mom, and said "I miss your mom. She was so funny!" But the thing is, the person they were referring to was my mom when she was older, sicker, and didn't have all her marbles. People thought she was funny because she said crazy things. After all, she had suffered two brain aneurysms and a series of mini strokes. The smokers thought it was funny that my mom would sneak out to the back yard or the garage, or wherever people were blazing up, and try to bum a cigarette.
Personally, I saw that as very sad.
I guess it just bothers me that most of the people I know, never really knew my mother. The woman that was beautiful and vibrant, spirited and intelligent. They only had a chance to meet the sick version, who would sell her soul to get to a cigarette; the very thing that took her personality, her looks, and ultimately her life away from her.
It's no one's fault. It just is what it is. But this Sunday morning, it bothers me.