I’ve written about the worst thing many times. My mother loss is the soul wound that I’ve tried to patch up, wanting to be whole with all my might. Page after page, I’ve been trying to piece myself back together. It is a labor of love, using whatever love I can muster up for myself. That I was taken from my mother, that is painful for people to read. But bad things happen and people believe it. It is true. My mother loved me. I loved her. She was good and I was told to believe she was bad. She was alive and I was expected to pretend she was dead. It has been scary to tell my truth, but how could I not tell it?
But the good thing, the best day, the day that I became whole, well that has taken me over fifteen years to even contemplate writing about. I recall that day with just as much clarity as the worst day; so much clarity in fact that it is almost blinding to my senses when I recall it