I lived; She didn’t
“Come to church”, my mother says politely.
I shake my head. She frowns, “Why not? You haven’t
left the house in days. You should get out, talk to people
your own age.” Well, that has done it! She’s brought it up
again. I wish that she would just keep her mouth …
“No! No! No! No!”, I yell, and then I rant for the fifteenth time today
“I do not need to talk to people my own age. I do not need you
hovering over me, making cups of tea and sandwiches,
massaging my stiff neck, hugging me when you think
I need another hug from you. I do not need your constant waiting
on me (hand and foot), your constant reminder
that I’ve been through something awful, your constant nagging
that I need to talk to God. That He will help through the pain and
set me straight. That I just need to open up my heart and soul …”
Then I collapse into a nearby chair and start balling once again.
And you pick up your purse and head on out the door, keys clicking,
heels knocking, tsking as you do when I don’t submit to your will
and follow my own path towards self-forgiveness and tomorrow.
© 2018 Catherine Woods
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