mothers and daughters revisited

There are all the memories you could want on the wall. Pictures of the strangers that share blood…pictures of us. The family tree ain’t what she used to be. You say that it’s your fault and for this I agree. You are sitting there crying about what? I do not know. You say you hate it when she does “remember when” yet your home has all the signs of way back then. What scars are you hiding?

Then, you tell me how you’re sad for me – that you think your daughter’s not happy. You say how you love your son too and then ask, why can’t you? I can say with certainty that I am happy and that you don’t know me. You only know what you take the time to see. And that ain’t much.

You share with me about you mother and your sister who make you remember when. You offer the good and the bad. Yes, I agree, now you are enlightened and free. I am surprised when you ask me what things in my past are bad memories. So I tell you and we cry for a moment. You are finally listening. You add how you feel guilty and then call me uptight. I smile and say you’re right. But in my mind, in this rare moment, I am able to let go. I’ve finally said what I needed to say and I am going to be alright.

Now I am free.

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