I think I was a much better person a year ago.
On some days I look at myself and I wonder what happened to her. And then I look at a picture of you-and-me-and-everybody-else from the days that once were. And I know.
I wonder if I should thank you for twenty-five years in which you indulged me, convinced me that there was nothing I couldn't do, excused my flaws as if they didn't exist, held my hand when I hurt, made me laugh when I cried, laughed at me when I threw a tantrum, or two, or ten, protected me from the world but more than that, protected me from myself.
Or I wonder if I should blame you for leaving me alone now. Unprepared (and most unwilling) to face the 'real' world.
A world without you.