when i was a child my first memories were of my mother asking g-d to kill her.
i would wake and hear her crying. i would sit up in the corner on the room and see her arms outstretched pleading crying, “G-d take me home. Take me home.”
I hid, not wanting her to know that I knew. I cried sometimes with her in secret. i wondered why she wanted to die. I couldn’t imagine the extent of her suffering.
one thing is certain, Shiyara will never hear that or see that from me. i may be this solid mess but i am also solid woman.
Unlike the boy in my bed who thinks children are a burden, she is not a burden and there is nothing and no freedom she limits. I guess this is hard to believe for a generation that thinks motherhood and parenthood is some sort of torture and the end to freedom…it could not be further from the truth. It is as if g-d were here with me everyday and I am blessed that i am capable of being her mother. it is effortless. she is my teacher. she shows me how to love and it’s her that has bettered me exponentially. she is the radiance of my life.
i have moments like today where i wonder if i deserve her or my happiness. i wonder if i am good enough to be her mother.
i am a mess of contradictions. and they are screaming at me.
i have lost something. or is it that i have discovered something better. only time will tell but this hurts.
i lay in the bath, weightless in the water. the pain in my shoulders and back reaching into my blood.
i think of my mother because perhaps it is my relationship and my history that make me so fragile. i have to ask myself why i want protection…is it because i didn’t have it as a child? and if i want someone to put their wings around me because i will never grow up out of it. and if i push you away because i am testing to see if you will go and you will go and another piece breaks off the block making my heart all that much smaller.
i am not ready. still after all this time. i am not ready.