I grew up with a single mother.
Across the street from us, my grandmother.
These two women helped shape who I am.
They are not perfect women, but no woman is perfect.
As they age, their imperfections amplify.
And they are aging.
I can’t stop that.
I hear it in their voices.
I see it on their faces.
The two women, the two imperfect women who made sure that I led a life different from their own, are not ageless.
They’re imperfect and they’re aging.
These were two traits unfamiliar to me as a child.
Neither woman could own either characteristic.
Both women were my world.
And they continue to be, though the dynamic has changed.
It changed sometime when I was not looking.
These two imperfect women are not indestructible.
And I can’t stop that.
If I could, I’d take all their emotional or physical ache, their moments of loneliness, their times of frustration, their seconds of confusion and seal it in a box, sending it out to sea.
I want to fix, to change, to erase, every time they hurt.
And that is how the dynamic has changed.
I want to be the mother, to control what is often out of my control; I want to shield the two women in my life from any pain whatsoever.
Happy Mother’s Day, my two beautiful, magical, imperfect women.
Hipstercite, you cannot stop the fall…nor would they want you to. But you can control the landing.
– By feeling this you reveal their treasured influence on you
– By writing this you move those feelings from the abstract to the real
– By sharing this you inform and inspire others to do likewise
Very entertaining post and great read!
It’s almost like you wrote this to be a poem. Was that meant?
Thanks for sharing. Eloquently written.