Tag: mother
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An imagination too large to contain
There once was a girl, when she was young, and before she understood her fate, she imagined herself a large life. One of adventure and excitement. But this girl’s imagination was too large to be contained. With each year it would grow, eventually past the bounds of reality, and soon…
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She will not hear the same story
My mother used to tell me a fable. One passed down from mother to daughter, about a woman who would get trapped in her mind more and more as she aged. She’d return less and less to the present with each year. The only solution was to find a savior…
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I release you. In a way, I now understand.
Dear June, I’m sorry I didn’t save you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t. In these moments, I find I morn most—not what happened—but that I didn’t get to know you. You were not simply my mother. You were a woman who likely feared as I did. I imagine you were as…
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never looking at him again
It began with conversations at school. I had a few friends, and I began to speak blasé about certain truths. We were all burdened. And though likely unhealthy, we were all desperate for understanding. Trauma, and weighted stories were shared, like reflections on the weather. I spoke of my mother.…
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Live a life I’d be proud of.
I found my mother’s cards. The ones she sent to me when I left for college. When I thought I had left for good. They’ve all begun to fade. All of them, but one, were repurposed from cards she saved over the years. Some old birthday cards, graduation cards, and…
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In loving memory
As my cue was called, I made my way out of the pew. In a cold, nearly empty church, we’d never attended as a family. One my mother became obsessed with in her final years. I regretted wearing healed shoes as I stepped across the marble floor, the echo making…
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My final day of freedom, until death.
It had been two years. I’m uncertain that they noticed I was gone. Barely occupying the space in all those years, a whisper. I’m sure my mom did but it was always fleeting. My father and I never spoke even under the same roof, so why would he? I’m sure…
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The last snake.
A mother’s love. Unwavering. An assurance. But what does that make of those who don’t receive? How does that affect the individual? The whole? Hating her doesn’t help; the harm was as much of a choice of hers as it is a snake after laying eggs. Abandonment, inherent. We are…
