“Mom, I want you to know that I don’t harbour any ill will toward our past. If I seek to know what happened, it is only to understand myself so that I might heal.”
Mom nods, considers my words. “There is so much I could have done differently.”
“No. You did what you could with what you had. They were difficult times.”
It is funny how, faced with imminent death, perspectives shift. Throughout my life, I have had a love/hate relationship with my mother: cowed by her criticisms, angry at her life choices, disappointed that she didn’t protect us. It all seems so petty now.
“The greatest regret I have concerning you,” she says, reaching a frail hand toward me; “is that I never comforted you after the rape. What kind of a mother was I to turn my back on you?”
Her words catch me off guard. I tear up. “You didn’t know.”
“No, but I’ve come across it in your writing.”
I thought I had filtered that part out, usually careful about what I let her read.
We talk about it. Clear the air. She cries with me and shares her own story of rape at fourteen. I’m the first person she’s ever told, she adds.
How life can chew us up and tear us apart. Good thing love’s bonds are so strong.
I ask her about earlier days – parts of my childhood that are foggy. We laugh at some of it, and shake our heads at other bits.
Then exhausted, we both withdraw into ourselves, and in the silence, nod off.
When it’s time to go, she tells me that I have always been her strength, her rock.
“It’s good to have you home.”
I wish I could do so much more.
One Woman's Quest II 
You now have me in tears. The very best you can do, you are doing. You are by her side, and she knows in her heart, you always have been. Many blessings to both of you ā¤
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Thanks Dorinda. We had another nice day together today.
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I’m so happy to her that, V.J. ā¤
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Thanks.
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When love’s bonds are this strong, there is so much healing that can take place. Still wrenching though. And to write so bravely about it. Thank you for sharing.
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Thank you. We cannot change what has happened, but we can change our attitude towards it.
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A true gift each of you is giving the other – opening, sharing, accepting.
This is a touching reminder that we all carry regrets and misunderstandings of one another. Sad that it takes approaching death to soften our barriers, but this seems so worth the wait. Wonderful that you can be with her, that you are each able to soften, open … and that you are so adept at reflective writing, willing to share this! Thank you, VJ. (From one who twice missed out on such a possibility.)
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I am fortunate to have this time with her, as I did with my Dad. Thanks Jazz. So much to learn from end of life sharing.
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I am tearing up with you. Love’s bonds are like tree roots, they run so deep and strong, even the most traumatic events can’t break them, injure them, yes, but not break them. I’m glad you are getting this time with your mother.
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I am too – such a gift to both of us. Thank you so much.
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by sharing your experiences I believe you *are* doing so much more. And I am sure you are helping others to heal through your writing. Best wishes as always.
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Thanks, Colin.
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