Sharon Marie Wright

I am a professional photographer specializing in dolls.  

I picked up a couple Emmy awards for writing/producing short format movies, been acknowledged for my acting and even got an attendance award at school once. 

I live in Los Angeles, migrated here from my hometown of Grandview, MO.  (Go Bulldogs) 

I love footed pajamas, Lifesaver Pep-O-Mints and stupid cat videos.  I have a pet pig and no, they do not stay small and you do not want one.

As far as my personal blog goes, everyone has had some sort of shit in their lives, I'm just documenting mine.  If you like it, great.  If not, I don't give a shit.

Live Fearlessly

No more maybes

My mother died.
My real mother,
the one who didn't abort me,
not the one who raised me. 

It's funny how you assume you know exactly how you will feel or what you will think about when you find out someone you don't care about dies. 

You actually find out that all along you truly did care. And what you thought wouldn't effect you - actually does.  

And, ouch.
damnit...

For those familiar with my story, in particular the "It Begins With a Baby on a Bus" post, then you are aware of the strained, or rather non-existent relationships I have with my birth parents. 

I actually haven't talked to GeorgeAnne in about 17 years, and when I saw her she had no recognition of who I was.  It was at the time when I met my brother for the very first time. Then, my brother introduced me to my other sister that I never met before. Finally, for the first time in my life - I knew who all my siblings were. There were 6 of us total. By 5 different fathers. She got around. She only managed to keep two of them and both by the same dad, so that was a bonus. But, she was no mother of the year to them either. That does sound rather harsh, to M & J, it was all they knew so I'm sure their feelings over her death are quite different than they are for the majority of us.

Today I got the message from one of my sisters that she had died this morning. Apparently she either fell asleep while smoking or she died while smoking, we aren't really sure. The autopsy is tomorrow. 

The irony is that 3 years ago today I stopped smoking. 

It was a small fire and I guess her body wasn't burned bad. But it must have been a slow news day because the local Fox station carried the story.

My immediate reaction was sadness.
Then I was mad that I was saddened by the news.

Like, why the fuck should I care? She never gave two shits about me, not ever. Even when I was 18 and living with her up in New Hampshire and she kicked me out of their apartment overnight, in the snow, with no car and nowhere to go, and I got pneumonia. I laid in bed for days with 105 fever and had to ask her to please take me to the ER. They literally just dropped me off and left. 

When I was 21 and pregnant with my son, again, I had to live with her because my grandparents had (again) kicked me out of the house. (Sort of a theme, right?) Anyway, I went into labor and like a good mother - she literally dropped me off and left.  Like, I'm about to give birth, I'm alone and fucking terrified and hey, you're about to be a grandma....fuck you.  Ultimately my grandparents came over, took one look at my son and immediately told me to get my shit and get out of there and took me back home. 

We even went to jail together one time, for shoplifting. Even though I'd been to jail before, this time I actually hadn't even done anything.

You get the idea of how it was. 

The news hit me hard. I just wasn't sure how to process it. How to feel and why I was so emotional over the whole thing. 

My husband pointed out that maybe it was because the door was now closed.  That there could never be that "one day..." moment. None of the 'maybe she'll realize...maybe she'll have regrets and contact us....maybe, maybe, maybe. There are no more maybes.

I'm now scrambling to get a ticket back to the midwest, I'm still questioning why the fuck I'm doing this. After talking to my brother and one of my sisters we all seem to feel the same about it. And, for some weird reason, we all just want to look at her. We want to see her shitty apartment. To be in her environment to maybe try to grasp a sense of who she was. To somehow find some closure to these gaps in our lives.

The good thing, well one of them, is that I connected with my siblings again. I'm awful at communication with others. I'm great at posting things on my Facebook, I'm great at liking and reacting to others posts but actually having a conversation? Oh fuck that.  But, we talked and it was nice.

The other good thing is it made me realize that as shitty as my relationship is with my real father, I actually have more of a relationship with him than I did with GeorgeAnne. And if her death hit me - then I can assume I will have some regrets with my real father.

I dialed. He cried. I cried. Things were said. Not ALL the things, but a start of some things. Having him in my life is not the worst thing.  I have enough regrets in my life, I don't need any more. 

I am off to Kansas City in the next day or so.

Not to say goodbye to her,
but to say goodbye to my anger towards her.