Losing loved ones still here


Deb is one of my favorite bloggers… for lots of reasons. One big reason is her uncompromising honesty. She writes with humor and compassion, but never pretties up the raw truth. As she shares this story, I’d encourage you to follow along – and please, if you know people who are coping (or not) with loved ones suffering from mental illness, pass this along to them too.

The Monster in Your Closet

Mom watching her sale, in The During Mom watching her sale, in The During

My mom sifted through Dumpsters and yard sales for treasures she could sell.

She’d have my siblings and I watch her sale whenever she went out searching anew.

I hated having to play cashier. My mom set her prices too high, I argued with her from the time I was nine or ten years old. I was constantly forced to shut down haggling by adults who didn’t seem to understand that I feared my mom’s wrath much more than their disapproval.

“No one will ever buy this at this price!” I’d inform my mom, whether “this” was a dresser, a bed, or a nightstand. “People don’t like your prices.”

“I’m not selling any item to ‘people,’ Deborah. I’m selling this to the person who really wants it.”

Every time, I argued Mom had named too high a price for something.

Every time, it sold.

For every twenty people…

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About Belladonna Took

Into my second half-century and still trying to figure out what to be when I grow up. Born South African, naturalized American, at constant risk of losing my balance and landing ass-first in the Atlantic. A wife, a mom, a daughter and sister, kind of a grandma. Until recently a full-time dog rescuer, now more concerned with rescuing myself. User of dog hair as accessory, decor and garnish. Technical writer, strategic thinker, occasional entrepreneur. Voiceless poet and storyteller. Born again Christ-follower and former missionary schoolteacher chewing on some uncomfortable questions. Ignorer of rules, challenger of assumptions, believer in miracles. Skeptical libertarian, equal opportunity despiser of politicians and assholes. Gonnabe gardener, wannabe beekeeper, Monsanto-hating tree-hugger. Morbidly obese chocaholic, with a horse I don't ride because I might break him, and if not he would probably break me.

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