I moved out of my place in Chicago yesterday.

Mom insisted on bringing my brother and “helping.”

Straight up honesty: I resented it and I wanted to experience my closure alone.

We took an hour to even leave town.

I could have told you Tyler would be stressed out and have a meltdown or two.

It’s not his fault.

I’m usually patient.

It’s just that … 10 hours in a van together…. moving my shit… saying goodbye. Was a little overwhelming. I was kind of angry and moody and tired of Tyler.

All day long he talks about what he wants to eat, and then when I’m hungry he has a tantrum about going to a restaurant. It’s like dude. I never say no when you ask me to buy you groceries or food and I get hungry too, okay?

Mom told me a story about my aunts and my grandma Raye.

Raye was drunk and talking about dying.

She told the three of them to go through the house and pick the things they want when she died.

Raye said she’d put a little label on them.

The two aunts went through the house like it was Supermarket Sweep, divvying up the goods.

Mom sat there quietly with tears in her eyes.

Raye asked what was wrong.

Mom said I’d give everything to have one more hour with you.

Grandma started crying.

My aunts stood there speechless.

I sat there quietly, considering life without mom, and how I’d ache at the idea of resenting 10 hours in a van together, however stressful some of those hours were.

And how I’d give everything to spend another 10 hours with her in a van, sleepy and crabby with a sore ass.

She is a sweet person.

And maybe in some ways we aren’t that different.

The day my sister met Raye, Raye had her hair up in rollers and she probably had her brandy and her cigarette and had just rolled out of bed and looked like hell.

My sister beamed and said “You’re pretty!”