Memories from mom’s last days, you know, from the hospital, are kinda like those dementors from Harry Potter – they come in masses, knock every ounce of strength away and blow me down to tiny, wobbly, brittle pieces until I become nothing but a miserable puddle of tears once again. And I succumb another time, this time worse than the last, until I’m so blind from pain I can only weep like a child, lost in the woods, not knowing which direction home is. All the resolve to be strong fails. All of life’s logic flops in front of my own eyes into ripples of nothing more respectable than some cheap magician’s humbug. All of it, like God and other animals of life, seem such a spectacular waste of time.