Your Mother

I know mothers are precious and sacred. I have one myself. I love her, but I allow myself to love her whole, with all her flaws. And I have learned over time, perhaps imperfectly, to accept what I cannot change about her.

I know I am not the model daughter, least of all in your eyes. You were brought up differently.

But I fear you will never see what your mother does to you. Not just you but all of you, your sisters, your father. Every family is imperfect, and I wish you would see that yours is no exception.

Your mother holds all of you close. So close she inserts herself into your lives. Yours and your brother's are the only ones she hasn't been able to get into because you choose to stay away. So she insidiously attempts to tell you to marry, using all sorts of excuses that disregard your happiness.

If she didn't have her own motives, she wouldn't pester you so. Because she should be able to see that you are who you are.

Or perhaps, maybe she sees the same deep unhappiness you carry buried within you. It manifests itself in the way you live your life, aimless and without purpose.

So she binds you to this earth the only way she knows how. By calling on you, needing you, clinging to your trouser leg each time she feels you are floating away.

Maybe I do the same.

We both love you, your mother and I. Maybe we both love you too much.