sign, signs, signing

I'd written it probably 800 times.  The name she gave me and my designation, daughter.  On every form, on every paper.  Verbally to every nurse and doctor, aide and chaplain.

But that last night something was different

One of the handful of things from that whole day that I remember with absolute clarity......sitting there only half listening to the hospice nurse telling me what was in front of me, what I was signing away, and how everything froze for a moment at that line for relationship.  I remember that it hurt, remember thinking this would be the last time.  I wrote the word daughter and it felt like a severing, an ending, the last.

It still does

Even though it wasn't

Since then, I've signed countless mortuary papers, and insurance papers, and bank account closure papers.  Every one of them with the requirement of who and what I am.  And every one has felt false.  I talk to bill collectors skirting the line between polite condolences and annoyance at wanting their money (yeah? me too. so sorry, there is none), and they all need to know who I am.

So do I

I know they question because I hesitate each time.  I can't not.  It doesn't feel right.  There are no grandparents, no parents, there is no one before me anymore.  There is no one to call me daughter but fucking bureaucracy, and they don't count, they never will.

I don't know what else I can say.  I know what people expect.  Even though it feels wrong.

In this instance, I don't know who I am.  I don't know my place in this world.

Can you still be a daughter when there is no one left to claim you?

Weighting

I always cringe when I see people who have staunch determinations of losing weight.  I know this is A Thing in Jan & Feb (all related to that new year's resolution nonsense); this pseudo-health kick that rarely lasts.

Real talk?  I don't like the idea of "getting in shape" either.  We're already shapes.  Maybe you're a square and you'd rather be a rectangle?  I'm pretty sure I'm technically a pear (which is confusing anyway because it's a fruit, not a shape), but I'm here to tell you, I have, and always will, self-identify as a hexagon.

Anyway.

My first thoughts in these scenarios are always "Why losing weight? Why not getting healthier?  Or wanting to become strong?  Why not focusing on self-care?  Or self-love?  Why not work on becoming friends with our bodies instead of resentful enemies?"

I said "always" there, but that's not true.  It's always before today.

Because today my thought was:  Yes.  I would like to lose weight.  The weight of the world's problems.  The weight of my grief and guilt.  The weight of poverty, of stress and fear.  The weight of this depression and anxiety that seem determined to piggyback me into the ground.  The weight of waiting for things I am not certain will ever come to pass.  Those weights?  I would dearly love to lose.