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Mother Figure

Love you always.

By Desiree DavisPublished 6 years ago 1 min read
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She glared at me.

Those eyes. Those eyes could tell a story.

Most importantly, those eyes told me all even when I didn’t know.

Fear had fought through her smile when I began to pack my life in big garbage bags and into leftover suitcases from the days our grandparents didn’t feel like monsters in a children's book.

She was in the living room but her presence crept by my door.

Seeing the words, “Congratulations!” on the letter brought my mother’s warm glow through it.

I miss her smile.

I miss her hugs.

I miss her love.

Now I don't have that love any longer.

She formed a broken smile when I held her one last time.

I must not cry, for thy is a woman now.

A strong woman.

Her tears had drowned the rodent she had in her hands, squeezing it for dear life.

Why would she cry when she told me that she hated me? Why she cry when she said that I act like her mother? Why must she cry when she says that I nag her?

She cried as if I died. As if I was slipping like the rodent in her hands.

As I sit on the bus, I cried.

I was finally blossoming, growing, and possibly the happiest in my life.

But I cried realizing something so twisted and strange.

I realized a pain that doesn’t belong to me but to my mother.

I was leaving without her.

I left her behind.

I had left my child motherless once again.

inspirational
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