Letters to Bizzy:

"As mother aged, she lost track of who she was. The façade became reality and she could no longer remember who she’d been, separating real from unreal. Gaps delineating manic depressive behavior disappeared leaving only the dark cold silence of who she had become. Surprisingly it was an improvement, for there was no false expectation lurking around the corner for anything different than what we had. A pattern emerged, acquaintances, people she counted as friends, and family, the participants in her life, pretended nothing was amiss, our routines were expected, memorized, and automatic. She had formulated her own make believe Cinderella lie and cast those she knew as profligates suspended in madness. For all of us had fallen down that rabbit hole contrived by my mother."

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