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Moms, moms, moms,

I wanted so badly to call you this morning.  Maybe ten-thirty hit, and I just stared at my phone.  Didn’t help that dad was texting me this morning.

Eric & I are still doing the best we can, there.  Told you about the tickets last time around.  Now, it’s just trying to hand off the messiness surrounding them.

It’s an uphill battle.

What in the hell did I want to say too you earlier?  It feels like, at times, L & I are walking on eggshells around one another, that my mind is going to shit, that all of us each is shuffling through his life without any of that sense of “attack” that you and dad tried to instill into us.

It’s worse for Eric.  The more I think about the decisions that you and dad made, & the more that I learn about how you made them, the more I see that you two were just as moorless as any of us.

This is both comforting, & PROFOUNDLY DISTURBING.  But there you go.

I think I’ve lost your pen.

I think that Eric is having a hard time with dad too, but he’s working his ass off.

OH!  I remember what I meant to bring up with you: the cat peed the bed this morning again.  It was AWFUL.  I know those beasties have half a foot in the Thereafter, so, if you can, a) read my handwriting, & b) have a word with her, I’d appreciate it.

I love you, mom.

Have a good night.

Ian

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