Shadows stalk our conversations, Mother and I. It’s not so much what is said, but what hovers between the lines spoken. Fear stalks her – death so close – and I sidestep darkness.
It’s an illusion, of course, this thought that we can think ourselves well, or avoid pain by focusing only on the light. I choose my words carefully, just the same, not wanting to inflict harm – we’ve done that enough to one another over the years. I want her to die with some peace in her heart knowing that between us all is forgiven, and that she is loved unconditionally.
Times like this, language is sorely lacking. Still we stumble along. Build sentences and frameworks to capture moments, convince ourselves it’s enough. It won’t be in the end. It never is.
Thanks to all who participated this week. The prompt spurred many diverse and interesting responses.
See you tomorrow with a new challenge.