Mother Wound

A sad realization before she was gone

Photo by rabialogy

I’ve debated sharing this piece for so long, because I held quite a bit of shame behind it. 

Writing has always been something I’ve used as an emotional outlet (ahhh, writing through the heartache of my first breakup). But since being told how helpful my vulnerability has been for others processing the deaths of their loved ones… It feels right to share this now.

I’ve made it paid because I still feel a bit of shame behind some of my words, though it’s quite less than before.

It’ll need much more context before just anyone can see this full piece, but maybe someday I’ll be able to share it more openly; for now, I’m ready to share it with an intimate few.

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JUNE 24, 2022

I stood by my mom, and watched as she licked the Tylenol crumbs from her lips.

Her hands–mauled by Rheumatoid Arthritis–held one of the hundreds of plastic spoons she’d use to take one of her daily doses.

She looked so vulnerable in that moment. I could really see her.

She hated looking vulnerable. She never wanted anyone to think she was weak, or could be taken advantage of.

I seemed to only be able to see her… Only capable of heart-swelling moments when she herself was involuntarily quiet.