Mother

On my writing desk I have a photo of my mother. She laughs at something riotously funny. The image in the sepia tones of time, is someone I never got to know. Her European side locked in the vault of her heart buried deep,sleeping soundly.

This morning I reflected on Mother’s Day and the cycles of nature. As a child I revered my mother, loved tagging along as she completed her household chores. In adolescence we drifted apart as I began to befriend for the woman inside me. I selected the direction of my feminine reality.

Then I became a mother, young and confident. Embracing motherhood I sought to provide foundations for my children to stand on in their lives. I watched them adore me, running to the door when I came home from the hospital, hugging my knees and saying, “I love you mum.”

My heart still overflows just remembering this.

Oma by the fountain Edited.jpg

My readers may recognize this image, the basis of a chapter in Schicksal.

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