Ending the bleek year on a high note...

My dad died in March. The last of my grandparents soon followed. I went under the knife for the first time in my life.

I've always said that I write better when I'm sad. Turns out, I didn't really know what sad was. I'll have to correct myself to say that I write the best when I have something to be melodramatic about.

I've never had anyone die before. Dealing with three deaths nearly all at once was almost too surreal. By the time my Grandma's death occurred, the funeral felt like something out of a soap opera. Meeting people for the first time, the white casket that I couldn't even begin to imagine something was actually inside. They made us actually put dirt on the coffin. I could hardly keep a straight face during the whole ordeal. The only thing that grounded me to the situation was my Mom.

If I feel like I've been through a lot, my poor mother has been through so much worse. She lost her mother and her husband within months of each other. She and Dad ran a business together, and Mom has to deal with the fallout of new owners and coworkers as well.

I wish I still lived there. I wish I could help her clean out the house, and ward off her depression. I'm not saying she should be over it. But she's getting worse, and from here there is nothing I can do.

I don't want to repeat history. I don't want my Mom to be begging me to kill her in a few years. I'm not sure what else I can do to help her. The tough love isn't working. But I'm afraid pandering will only make her more depressed.