My mother is rich.
Rich in love, wisdom, generous.
With strong hands she bore a weight that shouldn’t be born alone.
Shouldered the burden of rearing a child on her own.
I love my mother,
We look like twins.
Spitting image or so I’m told
But I cannot be my mother.
She is cold.
Merciless in her wit, she tears down what aught to be built up.
I fear being a mother.
That the traits she’s developed, could be in me causes me to fear
But they that these things could also find a home in my babies?
I mourn already.
I weep that my daughter,
Looking up to me might find no model for how to love her spouse
Only traits to exsponge from her character.
We’ve never shared the warmness of familiarity.
Perhaps her burdens sealed that part off to both of us.
I have only a smattering of warm memories.
Minimal when compared with others.
Precious gems from a woman I love but cannot imitate.
March 21, 2017 at 9:16 pm
I can relate, very much. This is so well expressed. 💜
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March 22, 2017 at 11:32 am
Unfortunately, so do I. Here’s hoping we’ve learned from their example. Thank you. 😌
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March 21, 2017 at 9:28 pm
Sad but a great read!
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March 22, 2017 at 11:30 am
Thank you, glad you enjoyed the piece. ☺️
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March 22, 2017 at 2:02 pm
I truly did, and thank you again. 🙂
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March 21, 2017 at 9:32 pm
At minimal …any reader can not stop but think about their mother. Very nice!!
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March 22, 2017 at 11:30 am
Thank you 😊 thanks for stopping by.
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March 22, 2017 at 7:22 am
It is not necessary that we both love and admire the person.
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March 22, 2017 at 11:29 am
That’s very true, although depending on the level of relationship you would hope you could. Thanks for stopping by. ☺️
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