The Silver Mother Diaries: episode 3


March 7th, 2019



Tonight I came home and had a good, long cry.

After what has felt like an endless week, with an endless amount of deadlines and pressure and defeat, I did what any decent writer would do and started drinking.

Not much, three to be exact, and one emergency cigarette. Enough to let me feel free for a little while. But why was I crying?

Exhaustion. Hormones. Life. Loneliness. All the good stuff that makes any woman resort to a good cry.

What was I doing in this trailer? Where’s my single story home that I’ll raise my kids in? I’m tired of this freezing, unfinished construction zone. I need a shower! Who are my friends? Do I have any? I miss my family. I miss having a partner. Even if I had one, this trailer would be too small for both of us.

I called my mom, and went outside for a smoke. I wanted to pour myself a fourth drink, a nice post-cry whiskey, but I refrained. A cigarette would be bad enough. We chatted for a while, and I felt better. Unpacking a lifetime of daddy issues at 34 is the pits. I came inside and warmed up some miso soup and a cup of tea. The water heater is working tonight and hot water hits the tap as I rinse a few dishes. Good. I don’t feel like re-lighting that bitch of a pilot light right now in the cold.

Lying on the couch, feeling awful sorry for myself, I drifted off and envisioned him. He was sitting on the leather arm chair in front of me. A sad song by Louis Armstrong came into the scene, you know, the one from Sleepless In Seattle, where Sam is seeing the vision of his dead wife and missing her so much it hurts. I look over at him, and see his long hair. His smile he would’ve smiled at me. The smile that always told me he loved me too much. I could see him. I go over to the chair, sit on his lap and give him a good kiss. He would’ve liked that kiss, and that hug, and that moment. It would’ve been something we did when we first started dating. It would’ve been love.

I rub my stomach. Pajamas, fleece, and a beat up pair of Ugg’s are my uniform these nights. What man would want me now. All I feel like tonight is a lonely, aging, overworked woman that wants to have a baby, and raise a family with a loving partner.

I drink my miso and put on a black and white Jean Harlow film. I’m done thinking about reality tonight and ready to be lulled to sleep by 1930s cinema.

Dez Ramirez