Fast forward to 1991. I was sixteen, had had a miscarriage, and was about to get married. (This is covered in my first few entries.) She called again, and my stepmother, Linda spoke to her. Linda told her I was getting married and encouraged me to talk to her. Around this time, or maybe before, we began writing each other. I sent her current pictures of myself.

After I was married, we had a couple more phone conversations. During one, she started saying things about Dad and Barbara and the past. I told her that those things cannot be changed, that I loved my father and Barbara, and we needn't discuss them. She had apparently found Jesus and asked if she could send me a Bible. I had no use for the ones I had, so I declined.

Our last phone conversation was more friendly and interesting. We discussed what we did for a living, the cars we drive (or have driven), and many other things. This is the kind of conversation I longed to have with her - the kind of getting-to-know-you stuff. I told her I drove a '78 Camaro, and she told me about having had a Trans Am of the same year (and that she had loved it). Anyway, we ended the conversation on a good note.

I found out from her brother after her death that she was a freelance programmer for a short time. She had told my stepmother this, but I was skeptical. This is significant because I am now a programmer/analyst, and had my degree then.

My mother died of a cardiac arrest and pneumonia. We suspected that the lithium and other drugs she had taken were hard on her heart, and it finally gave out. During another tumultuous time (after buying our house), I was called by a woman from South GA to tell me about my mother's death. When I didn't have a fit, she said it didn't sound like I cared much. THIS upset me. I couldn't even talk to Jeff or Chris (our roommate) about it. Later that night, my uncle Bill called me. I told him what happened. He said that the family my mother lived with was not aware of the extenuating circumstances surrounding me and my mother.

A few days later, Bill and I took the 2 hour trip to South GA to handle her affairs. I picked up her belongings, closed out her bank account, paid the funeral home, and had about $1500 left. I felt guilty about this. I was her daughter, but had had basically no contact with her in decades. Bill assured me that I had as much right to the money as anyone.

That Friday, Bill's family and I took the trip again for my mother's "viewing." I've never understood embalming or looking at a person's body. My mother was eventually cremated, but was embalmed for this service. She had many friends down there. She had been staying with an elderly man and taking care of him. His family was there. His daughter is the woman who called me initially.

When I walked into the room where her body was, everyone turned to look at me. It was so surreal. Apparently, my mother talked about me a lot, and had showed the recent pictures of me to everyone. It was so strange. Everyone came up to me to tell me they'd heard so much about me.

This is getting long again. Pause...