My original post spanned over several pages in TextEdit. After staring blankly at my computer screen for several hours, I realized that it was simply too intimate, and too soon. What should have been a few paragraphs about a family tragedy looked more like the early works of a short story, and I began to feel that the prose my thoughts and feelings had turned into were just too... Detached? I don't know. But it just felt like, in order to cope, I had taken a tragic experience and attempted to pass it off as just another piece of writing, and I know that the road to acceptance isn't through attempting to convince myself that my life is a piece of fiction.

I haven't exactly had the clearest head for the past several days. My mind has been a blur of anger, joy, relief, sadness, and shame; sometimes one after the other, sometimes all at once. I just don't think I'm ready to dump that on the internet. So, the highly abridged version:

On July 8th, at 6:06 in the evening, my mom passed away. She wasn't alone; Dad and I were with her. She just stopped breathing, and a few moments later, her heart stopped as well.

That's all I can say right now. My heart is full of so many unsaid thoughts, but I just can't bring myself to let them go yet. I'm sure I will eventually; but not today.