there's an article in the local newspaper telling the story of a young woman, 25 and her mother, 66. The daughter fled the fire. Her mother refused to go, said there was time enough. and died in it. There is a large photograph on the front page of her, the daughter, her fingers holding a baggie of papers or photographs, one of many in a plastic container of such things.
the story of this was written in a matter of fact spare manner. raw. told of a relationship of mother and daughter that would be not unfamiliar to many. i read it, hearing Voice, like those radio stories i listened to this weekend. Voices, telling. Hers, her mother's.
It's painfully beauty full. It's painfully horrible, for the daughter….who had yet reached the age when she could stand up to her mother, a mother who maintained her alpha position. They would have come to a different balance in years just some ahead, but not yet. And the daughter is left behind. Alone. The title of the article is I Want My Mother Back.
this time of year, when families come together, when so much is at the table. To be sure to TRY to let it all go, all of the contentiousness no matter how legitimate, and to just say….Even Though. Even Though, i love you anyway. I love you anyway. I will love you anyway, forever, whether i want to or not, whether you want it or not. And whether it fixes anything or not, no matter the response. At least you said it.
windthread 
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