I’ve loved everything you’ve written, Christiana White. And it’s not just because we have so much in common. It’s because you were meant to write. You were.
And by the way, my mother died in 2002, and I have not missed her once either, and I still haven’t cried. I know. It really does sound awful. She wasn’t a drunk; in fact, she only had a glass of something when out to dinner, but she was an enabler. She was kind and caring, but she was emotionally unavailable. I used to ask her: “Is there anyone in there?”