mom.

You were swinging from the oak tree, gaze upward and body motionless. I almost lost my breath because I imagined you losing yours. I saw you for the first time that day. Someday--and the thought had struck me completely unaware--you won't be here anymore. Death will take you from me and I will grieve your absence much like the way I have, at times, grieved your presence.

Dear God, you have given me your all in my mother. She loves me painfully imperfectly but she has never once stopped loving me. When I break away from this haven of self-protection and calloused, practiced indifference, I know. I know I love her. I know all she believes in is harmful to me but peace and shelter to herself, and for that reason I must be kind to her soul and to mine.

My mother. My dear mother. Before it is too late, can you see me for who I really am? I am lost and broken and found in that way I can never find you. I am waiting for you to love me in a place you have condemned. I am waiting for the one who birthed me to birth herself. Oh let me learn how to love you before the storm comes to take you from me.