There, just inside, is my mother -- or at least what's left of her. Today, I do not know who is in there. But I am damned if I am going to speak to her like the aged infant she appears to be. She deserves the dignity of being someone's mother and for this small while, I allow myself the indulgence of being her child.
What if kids were taught that the very point of social media is to inspire, lift up others, and make each other laugh? It won't be easy; we're all used to seeing social media spread snark and gossip. But, really, no one wants to spend so many hours a week fearing for her reputation and safeguarding her social status.
Five minutes into this trail of thought, I start to feel a pit in my stomach. Mostly, because I remember who I used to be. I work over in my mind what I would like to tell her, in hopes that she takes my advice and avoids similar missteps -- and because I seem to still suffer from pregnancy brain, I better write it down.