Today (Monday) is my last full day in the UK. Tomorrow afternoon, I fly back to Los Angeles.
This whole trip has been… well, not what I wanted. Not what I had expected. Arriving at my sister’s place just in time to get a phone call telling us my mother, the person I’d flown out to surprise for her birthday, had been found dead… I don’t know that it’s possible to process that. I don’t know that it’s possible to ever get over.
This week, I go home, and I start trying.
Until then, there is tomorrow. I’m going into town with my sister for the last time. We’re going mostly to have lunch and to get tattoos - I’m getting the word “love” in Circular Gallifreyan on my left wrist. It’s my first tattoo, and I’m told the wrist is a painful place to get tattoo’d. I’m okay with this. It should hurt. Otherwise it doesn’t mean anything.
My mum’s funeral was on Friday afternoon. A lot of people came out. People I haven’t seen in years. Decades, in some cases. She wasn’t just my mum. She was a lot of people’s mums. She was there for so many people, touched so many lives. She helped people wherever possible, even if that meant she went without for a while. That’s the person my mother was. That’s the person I have always tried to be, and I will endeavor to try much, much harder.
I’ve already decided that the next PortsCenter is going to be about her, about the games she played and how her gaming experiences influenced my own. I hope everyone is okay with this. I’ll go back to making dick jokes about bad SNES platformers shortly afterward.
I am ready to come home. Spending the month in England has reminded me, deeply and thoroughly, that I don’t belong here anymore. LA is my home. It’s where my heart yearns to be, and where it will begin healing.