It’s mother’s day again.
I never intended to hate this day.
It wasn’t suppose to be this way.
Momma wasn’t suppose to die before our cherub was born
And flesh of my flesh, cherub daughter of my rib wasn’t meant to be my enemy.
Should of. Could of. Would have.
It snuk up on me like tipsy does the teatotaller
Who didn’t fight with their teenage daughter?
Maybe it was the plane crash.
Or the divorce.
Nah, it was me trying to squash anger.
The day started normal.
Words morphed into razors.
Once, twice and thrice I slapped my cherub.
I haven’t seen her since.
I called CPS on myself and asked them if I needed help.
Two mother’s day’s apart.
Now, hope wakes me up and discouragement puts me to bed.
And in between I pray. Tomorrow will be the day.
I refuse to accept irreconcilable.
Obsessed I’ve become.
Starved I am.
For the forgiveness of my cherub, flesh of my flesh, daughter of my rib.
It’s mother’s day again.
Some of us struggle with mothers day, I know.
I’ve been there.
When my daughter was sixteen until about the time she was eighteen we were separated mostly because I didn’t know how to handle her very real anger at the traumatic losses our family was dealt over a very short time period. I tried to make her happy. I wanted her to be polite, respectful even though life hurt like hell and mostly I spent the early evenings in the bath tub crying loudly when the water was running so I could put on my mask and act like everything was all fine and dandy even though life felt hot and suffocating like I imagine hell- does.
I was a child who was hit. And even though I vowed to never hit. I slapped. And slapped. As if I could slap the disrespect and every last drop of anger out of her rightly traumatized self.
My sentence ended the day my daughter forgave me and grace escorted the two of us into a special embrace, a second chance of sorts we enjoy to this moment.
My heart is heavy for all of you who long to be forgiven, given a second chance and tonight you will go to bed disappointed.
I get it. There are some relationships that were never reconciled in my life. I grieve those, daily. I find it easier to forgive these days perhaps that’s because I needed it so …for so very long.
Grace. I accept it because try as I might I do harm when all I really want to do is tip toe through life as a channel of peace and love and a liberator to those imprisoned in fear or false beliefs.
Peace. And love.
It must begin inside of me to be experienced by you or my cherub daughter and wise beyond his years young son.
And so today I pray for the courage to trust grace and peace to guide my steps and be the lover of my soul.
Reconciliation. I guess we must reconcile with ourselves about our stain covered pasts and all of our misdeeds and when we find the courage to forgive ourselves -I’m pretty sure forgiving everyone else becomes easier.
I hear God has a short memory and an abundance of grace. I’d like to be just like that. A short memory on wrongs suffered and overflowing with grace toward all. t
All my peace. All my hope. From one stained human being to another.