be careful when asking a mexican to choose a documentary.

all i wanted was a good documentary to watch while i gave her a shoulder rub. she chooses one called "dear zachary" from her netflix watch instantly queue. the filmmaker is a dear friend of a murdered man who drives across the country recording memories of his friend for his son, who's a baby. the friend's baby was birthed by the friends killer - psycho girlfriend. so, the friend's parents try to get custody of the kid. psycho gets out on bail and kills both herself and this baby. this one final tie to their son, she takes from them.

i cried. a lot. like flood gates, hot damn, haven't cried this much at a movie since watching "i am sam" in the theater. m. sleeps on the couch almost the entire time. and now i'm awake because every time i close my eyes, i see scenes from this movie. it's crazy how much it effected me. i've never been a mother. never a grandmother. never lost a child or a grandchild or anyone close to me. it's one of my greatest fears.

m. is now in bed. i untangled myself from her and now i'm on the couch with the black dog who has no idea what i'm doing up this late. the coffee at 4 probably wasn't smart either. it's amazing how life can change. two people met on a double date in the 1960's and this entire story unfolded. if one sperm hadn't met one egg, none of this would have happened.

sometimes i understand my mother's agoraphobia. life seems like such a random chain of events, i even understand the want to believe in god or something more powerful with a master plan. i'd like to understand it anyway.