I was her first love, whether she knew it or not. When she
gave birth to me on September 18th 1987, I took some of her
pain with me. Had I been any bigger I would have taken it
all, but the load was to much and I had just taken my first
breathe. Obsessed with meditation I tried to go deep enough
to find the first memory of my mother. I m still not that
good yet but I remember what she felt like, warm and
abundant, to much of her was never enough. I would chase her
approval and wanted to be everything like her. No matter how
much I tried though the Suttle sadness never left her eyes,
and the ache never escaped my chest. I look just like her
but I know sometimes she looked at me and saw my father with
all his mistakes. I felt her frustration  and tasted her
bitterness in her screams. Always felt her love though,
consistent and ever flowing. She would smile at me and my
skin felt like fairy dust. Every chance I got, I wrote her
love letters and picked the prettiest flowerd to match her
smile. Two more kids later and several more cracks to her
heart, I watched my mom juggle three jobs and still have
time to teach me how to make dinner. I wanted more time with
her more hugs and I love you s but she made sure we never
went hungry, always had more than two gifts under the tree
and managed school shopping every year. After her mother
died, she changed and I felt hollow inside. Religion swept
through the house like a plague and life got really strange.
My little brothers saw demons and the pastor was called for
my possible possession. We stopped dancing together and
family game night faded away. Doctrine took over but it
still couldn't fill the void. We fought like cats and I kept
coming to a wall to get to her so I tried to climb it no
matter how tall it got. I knew what was on the other side,
felt it clear to my core, whether I understood it or not.
She still took us to Disney world for my 16th birthday and
always cooked our favorite foods. She had me at 19, by 18
she followed me around with a pregnancy test, I laughed but
couldn't ignore that desperate feeling. After five kids and
a looming divorce she became like live wire and a chill
crawled up my spine at the sound of her voice. I would run
from  her tears and the sorrow of my baby sister. I didn't
know how to feel it all at once and at this point I didn't
feel like I was ever going to be enough. By 22 I gave my mom
what she wanted and gave birth to my baby girl. It wasn't
until I started making the same mistakes with my daughter
that i realized, somebody stole my mother s childhood away.
She wasn't allowed to cultivate her self-expression, nobody
reassured her that she is perfect. They didn't let her know
how necessary mistakes are and more importantly they led her
to believe true love didn't exist, one will always love one
more than the other. I had to feel myself inside myself to
know that I was a refuge of my mother's pain. I didnt want
to let it go though, she shouldn't have to carry it alone. I
can hold on a bit longer I told myself. This life didn't do
her spirit justice and it never will if I keep holding on.
The thought took my breathe away but it didn't make it any
easier. Been twisting this bottle cap to long, it's to
tight, can't open it now. My soul reminded me that her pain
wasnt the only thing I took with me that day. I hooked on
that life line and used all the fierceness from my memories
of her and blew the lid off. My scalp tingled and the
pressure finally lifted from my chest. I memorized the
feeling and became intimate with the sensation of release.
The more I have to take back with me for her, the freer she
ll  be, the higher she ll fly and the more I ll see.