I cannot seem to reconcile all the resentment I once held for my mother. The coals in my heart that I have tried to sear her with, burn me when see her. Had I known her power I may have respected her. Had I seen the way she fought the darkness I would have run to her side like any other child. I was a foolish little girl for pushing her away. What a forgiving woman she is for accepting my love now with open arms. What I once mistook for weakness was in fact an unbreakable strength. I can only hope that I will one day be half of the woman my mother is today.
My heart aches for her as she slowly reveals the pieces of her she has kept so long hidden. My eyes well up when I think of the pain she has had to endure for the sake of her children. The long years of abuse and deceit she tolerated so that her kids would not see the ever present dangers in their own home. The confidence with which she stood her ground when that danger tore through the paper thin wall of protection. Her unwillingness to let anyone shake her convictions.
She is not a perfect person, and has allowed irreparable damage to graze me. She has watched as I suffered with her. She has had to make horrific decisions. I do not envy the life she has had. I thank God every day that she is finally tasting the freedom she deserves, though her battle is not over yet. I feel wrong for crying for her. She puts on a brave face for me, but I can see the sadness that pools in her sparkling blue eyes. I can see the way her lips form a thin line when she thinks about him. I can see the agedeness in her face at the very mention of him. What sort of evil could make such a beautiful woman so distraught. I have only glimpsed it, and am scarred for it. If a person were to ask why I have faith all I would need to say is,
"My mother."