Thoughts on my mom today

5 Sep

Its interesting what your mind can block out when you are doing the day to day stuff running around and getting shit done, how much you forget or or put in one part of your brain under lock and key that you usually dont think about, kinda block out just so you can get on and do what you usually do, people places things that hurt you and still impact and affect you even if the event happened years ago and then the slightest thing can bring back a flood of memories rushing back the good the bad and the ugly, shit that makes you happy and shit that makes you just want to take a razor to your wrist and just fucken end it once and for all.

Several days ago I was home alone waiting for my roomate to get home and I was percolating coffee in one of those old school espresso machines and as she walked into the room for some reason the smell of the coffee made in that type of old school metal contraption reminded me of some of the last days of my mom and shit and all i was able to get out was I made you coffee before I started balling and crying and crying she looked at me and was very understanding about why I couldnt explain why I was crying but yeah there I was just missing her for no fucken reason other then a bloody coffee contraption, and it is true the pain never goes away but is kinda like a scab that if picked at will just open and all the pus and shit will start gushing out, which is kinda ironic because during my day to day stuff in my head I kinda blocked out the fact that I had a mom unless I am telling a story in a good mood about something cool that she did and it kinda slips out subconsciously as part of a narrative of some fucked up back in the day shit that we get a laugh out of and then as I am telling the story I am like yeah I had a mom she loved me and gave up all this shit for me to make sure I have what I need and always had my back even if defending my and having my back may have gone against acceptable dogma and community mores and shit, and that most of my politics, notions of right or wrong and that sort of stuff was a direct result of how she raised me and the values that she instilled in me about standing up against what is wrong even if you stand alone because wrong is wrong. This was the woman who after all responded to my communist ideology by asking me what the labour theory of value is and said no one can claim to be a communist if they dont understand surplus value despite the fact I was like thirteen or some shit, this was the woman who would march to the cop shop and demand that I be released at once calling the police muchachas and yelling that the only reason I was held for bail was so my bruises would heal, this was the woman who when I got convicted for throwing choclate milk on pseudo fascist Stockwell Day brought a shit tonnes of chocolate milk cartons for myself and my supporters to drink and flash at court and wanted to get up and say that this wasnt assault if this was the old country it would be a bullet not milk and as such I should be released (me of all people argued against this line of defense lol I can still remember her saying NO SERIOUSLY HE IS CALLING THAT ASSAULT WHAT A PRIVILEGED ASS SOME OF THESE POLITICIANS NEED A GOOD EPIDEMIC LIKE CHOLERA OR A FAMINE OR SOMETHING TO ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT THE STORY IS). A person so strong and fierce will will seep through the cracks of whatever barriers you made in your head and it is kinda weird as since her death I have not been able to look at her picture and recently in the last few days I made my profile pic on facebook a picture of her and the cat (yes Gloria I concede it was PC not cleavland) and late at night when im up readin Enver Hoxha (as I was the other night), watch some sort of vampire show or nerdy thing or just cruising fb I kinda look at her picture and start laughing or crying or some sort of fucked up shit as the memories flood back in the good the bad and the ugly.

So obviously sitting today at her grave for about two hours was quite intense, there was some fuckery which I wont get into as the memorial was about her, and this blog is about my thoughts of her or something like that and definitely not about the state, except maybe the role it played in the end, in any case the point being that for me sitting their was no small thing and at first I was kinda wierd talking to people and such about her, esp as some people tried to tell me that I had no role to play in her death which is really fucked and patronizing, yes I also read psychology books and I know the whole don’t blame yourself shit, but facts are facts and material conditions are material conditions and something cant just be wished away as what happened happened and the past cant be undone, but still after the initial awkwardness weirdness whatever I kinda felt a warmth as we shared storys and memories and such I started laughing and feeling warm, storys about how my mom use to always bail out all my friends until the courts said she couldn’t, story’s about her bluntness and how she would say whatever she thought if it was the truth and wouldn’t suger coat it, one story in particular was kinda funny, a friend who at that time called himself a hardened Stalinist was reemed by mom about his treatment of woman as she told him that if he lived in a communist country and acted that way he would be expelled from the party, labelled a counter revolutionary and dragged in front of all the mass organizations to participate in a public session of criticism and self criticism, needless to say this persons bravado definitely took a beating. The stories and the memories, of her letting homeless youth we worked and organized with stay at our house and when our house was full tents in the back, stories of food that my mom would give me to give to my friends despite the fact that we didnt have much ourselves, storys of her yelling at parents who abandoned their kids and how she stuck up for them, to her chasing anti social elements with a broom. I also told stories of how when I was in under house arrest in the past or under bail (which was a big chunk of my life) she would wait till other family members were gone tell me storys of the 20th congress of the CCCP and the fallout, or teach me bella chaiou, bandera rossa or other revolutionary songs in the original languages, or talk about our peoples contributions to internationalism from Libya to Syria or how during the bay of pigs their were demonstrations outside the US consulate with people chanting Cuba Yes Yankees No and when they would say No the militants would throw the rocks etc. (Don’t get the wrong impression she was very critical of how communism played out and we would have huge heated discussions, with her at one point stating in exasperation I swear to god i’ve only met two communists in my life and one of them is you AND I LIVED IN A COMMUNIST COUNTRY) and sitting their telling and sharing the storys I remembered all the good that I blocked out with the bad and sitting here at the keyboard I realize how lucky I am to be raised and loved by her and although the memorial didn’t go the way we originally planned it (I swear nothing does) I was happy to be their talk share and remember a woman whom left a bigger mark on my political formation then all the book and actions I read organized and studied because she taught me the importance first and formost of the importance to put the human factor first and to see injustice not as an abstract idea but something that affects real people with feelings and thoughts and as such something that at all costs must be opposed.

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