Six months after my mom’s suicide, there is still a 12-pound lasagna she made in my freezer, and I can’t will myself to defrost it or throw it away. “In case you have guests,” my mother had said, hoisting the slab of meat, noodles and cheese from her refrigerator bag into my freezer. I took this to mean, you should have more friends over. Now that she’s gone, after struggling with such mental health issues as borderline personality disorder, I realize my translation was wrong. She was saying, I wish I had more friends to feed because I feel alone.
Redirecting you to Salon