Its in the details

With my poem coming out in a week and a half, I thought maybe I should take some time out and let you know more about me. As I am apposed to giving out truly vital information online, I don't mind people knowing aspects of my life. It helps to write about them even. The self reflection of memories can be a great source as a writer.

So with this in mind, my poem is about my mother. I always had a great relationship with her. She was in part my inspiration for most of the things I have written in the last 8 years. We argued alot, but she was my mom.

Her name was Marlene, Most of our younger years we spent jumping house to house and for her man to man. However, she managed to clear that up by marrying her third husband which gave me the gift of the man I now call my father. What could be crucial to know is I have lost both of my biological parents. I do not see this as good or bad, only that it is what happened.

My mother was a bad alcoholic. She started at 9 am most days and didn't quite til many hours into the night. When I was younger it was fun, we'd sit outside suntanning with margaritas on  her blue 72 mustang.

As I grew up, married, and had my first child I found the flaw in this. She used to babysit my daughter while I worked for $5.15 at the local mcdonalds. I came to pick my daughter up once and she had been drinking beer. She almost dropped my daughter who was only 9 months old. I of course made it into a fight and told her she had a serious problem with alcohol and needed to get help.
Needless to say she didn't.

She died 2 months later. I  don't remember much of things from her, my mind has blocked nearly everything from me, but I remember the call.
I was working the closing shift. I swept the front lobby and was headed to the back to finish. The phone rang and I picked it up.

It was my sister. She claimed my mother was in a car accident drinking and driving. Now heres what I knew of my mother at this point. She drank, but only once in her life drove while intoxicated. She was put in jail and claimed she would never be there again. But like a wise gal I told my sister "Good I hope she learns her lesson"

It was that moment when my sister claimed to have another call coming in, so I patiently waited. Seconds later my sister was back on the line screaming "Mom's dead!"
The details after went something like disbelief and then anger. I yelled at the hospital staff, cursed at the sherriff, and finally came to realize she was gone. Only it was surreal at the point. Even today it is...its one of those things you don't think would happen to you, then -bam- there it is, only even now its like  abad movie being played out in my head.

After my temperal breakdown, which included pinning the poor sap at the memorial to a wall because he refused to allow me to see her body, I composed myself enough to eat lunch and come back to "view" my mother.
The one thing I'll never forget is her face that day.

She was covered from toe to neck in a blue cloth. Laying, almost asleep like, on the table in a spare viewing room. I walked up to it and at first she looked to be asleep. But as I came closer to her I could see the scratches still bloodied from the glass all around her mouth, which was turned up in a half drunkin smile. Her forehead was a blue and black bulge as big as a soft ball.
My brother had to carry me from the room, I wouldn't budge I stood there just waiting for her to wake up, open her eyes, move  a finger, anything.

Don't feel bad about this post, its details, memories pent up that I use. And this is what my poem "Whiskey Kisses" is about, The aftermath so to say but without all the gory details.
Its a blessing to be able to use this or any number of my memories in my writing. Its part of what helps me write. My secret weapon. :)