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My mom is currently sitting in a Claremore motel room. She’s shoeless. No extra clothes. A broken neck.
She’s screaming into her phone and out of my speaker.
It’s the eighth call in 10 hours. Most of them throughout the night. Four-minute voicemails of her screaming and sobbing. I later listened to all the voicemails. All had same the message. Just the order of the retellings were changed up a bit. Uncontrollable rage in each. In each one she mentioned she wasn’t drunk or high.
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One of my mom's campsites located in north Tulsa. Just out of the frame is a house owned by a felon, who allows homeless to stay on his property for a daily fee of $5 or a pack cigarettes or some food.
So you're homeless.
You've hit rock bottom. You've burned every bridge. Eviscerated every relationship.
You feel alone, worthless, anxious, depressed, disappointed, helpless.
There are days you wish you could curl into a ball and just die.
Read moreThree days ago I posted about my mom being homeless. Within the blog I opened up about my feelings and shared info about her mental health. It was the first time I revealed to the world what I had been going through for 36 years. Previously there were only a handful of people who knew some of that.
I expected the blog to be read by some people. I wasn't ready for what happened.
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My mom around six months after I was born.
The above picture is my second favorite all time of my mom.
She's 14 enjoying a book. She's beautiful.
I was around six months old then.
Read moreIt's 3:30 in the morning. Ella Fitzgerald's voice carries throughout our Airbnb house in central Oklahoma City. As I explore the midcentury home, I listen to the 1957 live recording at the Shrine Auditorium.
The record, "At The Opera House," plays in the living room. The B side is spinning.
When I finally settle in and relax in a chair near the turntable, she has started singing "Moonlight in Vermont."
I feel like I've gone back in time. It's a magical moment. It's just us and Ella.
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