I’ve watched my mother live. I have watched her sing, holding herself up straight. I have watched her put on makeup. I have seen and envied her, her breasts.
I’ve watched my mother live.
Sailing, drawing, painting, cooking, owning a bed and breakfast, feasting with friends and fasting with God.
Faith. And I have watched her faith and lived it too. I always swore that I was the cause of her knee troubles. But she out all four of us in God’s hands.
And now, she lives via placebos or the next great fix that will make her happy and energetic until she drops again.
I see the patterns woven in my mother’s life and how I could have adopted those patterns as well, but no. I live my own pattern.
Yet, I still want to live like she…