There are times that a quick, short answer jumps out of your mouth. Full of sharp edges that draw blood. And you look away so you don’t need to see the pain you know you caused.
Half of what she does, you don’t understand. The things she allows leave you cold and irritate you.
One moment you want to fold her in your arms, the next you wish you could just shake her a bit.
One day it will all make sense to you.
The things she never told you about, are the very things that hollowed out her insides and then built her up again, so she can carry more and more where no-one can see the weight. Those things that sometimes break her where you can actually see it, even though you prefer not to.
Her eyes notice everything, yet she keeps so much to herself. She steps back and offers her hope for the sake of her child’s happiness. The gratitude she deserves for doing that is far and few between, yet her flame of gratitude reaches close to the Heavens.
Should you be blessed enough to still have her breathing the air of this earth, it’s time you start digging in your gratitude-archives and find the warmth in your heart, the forgiveness in your voice and the same amazement you had as a toddler for her. I beg of you to please, today and every day, be gentle with your Mother.
Because the day will come that her morning greeting will no longer be.
Her words “I love you my child” will no longer be.
Her voice will no longer be heard.
All that will be left are memories..