It's me again. And while I know I've never been your favorite person, I've struggled for years to make you mine.
You were a child when you birthed me. I would have understood had you given me to another family...one that would have loved and cherished a baby girl. You were a child as you reared me. How I wished you'd taken the examples that had been set before you and tried them in the midst of raising me your way.
I'm raised now. Since 16 I've been on my own, and though I struggled and made some horrific mistakes along the way, they were my mistakes, and I'm happy to say that decades later I've learned from them. Some of the lessons were tough ones, but they helped create the woman I am today.
I'm a mother and a grandmother. I haven't raised my children the way you raised me. They were raised with unconditional love and the breathing room to make and learn from their mistakes. They're not perfect children. They don't all hold esteemed degrees...something you always felt so necessary, yet never achieved yourself. They're good children with kind hearts who grew up knowing their mother loves them. My grandchildren are my reward. They tell me that my children understand I tried awfully hard, and now they trust me with their children. I have never once seen it as a burden. I care for them as often as I can. They are blessings to me.
You're an old woman now....bitter and worn from years of playing games, lies, and deceit, but for all of that I still love you. I forgive the years I spent in pain at the wrath of your words. Your tongue wounded deeper and far more painful than a lashing with a strap.
My prayer for you this Mother's Day is for peace....peace in your heart and in your mind, and to know that you are loved, simply because you are my mother.