You taught me every word matters. You wrote with intensity and eloquence. Never wasting a single breath or line. Your cleverness, sincerity, & corniness is something I’ve tried to keep with me. It’s the only thing that could counterbalance your unwavering intensity and drive. When you love, you love hard. When you hate, it’s with a terrifying smile & seething poisoned vengeance. We used to listen to the lyrics in songs and think about their meaning. You challenged me to think deeper about why a song makes you cry. I learned that music and storytelling can move someone if you’re willing to pour yourself into it. We loved the Wizard of Oz and Singin’ in the Rain and The Sound of Music. I’m thinking about the Phil Collins lyrics. Don’t listen to them ‘Cause what do they know? (What do they know?) We need each other, to have, to hold They’ll see in time, I know When destiny calls you You must be strong (You gotta be strong) I may not be with you, but you’ve got to hold on They’ll see in time, I know We’ll show them together When we were on the beach you’d sing Barbara Ann by The Beach Boys as we would bob up in the down in the waves. I remembered the words enough to find it on online and use it in my horror movie. I figured you’d find that clever, if you saw it. I know if you saw it, you’d nod. That was how you showed approval of something extraordinary. You taught me that it’s possible to “will” your way towards making something extraordinary, against heavy walls of resistance (and stupidity). Plowing through objections and fear, often being horribly misunderstood. With enough conviction and patience and brain-power and cleverness, you could break and change systems. You’re a disrupter, and you inspire me to be the same. The distance and silence is heavier than normal, but somehow we’ll find a way to give each other a “nod” here and there. Love you always, Mom.