“I am not alone because I have no one; I am alone because I don’t allow myself to believe that I am not alone.”
My mother’s heart beats double time for the emotion expressed in my daughter’s outpouring. Her agony, doubt, fears, and desires poured forth in waves of powerful questioning and it was all I could do to see through my own tears to the computer screen. What came next was a bit shocking …. pride. As her mother, as a woman approaching forty, I read and absorb her words and think to myself; blessed even is the thirty year old to have such revelation. To dig deep down inside of your truest self and beg the question of purpose and passion exudes wisdom and maturity. I was not worried for her in those moments in the early morning as I cleaned up the used Kleenex and re-read her words for the third time. Not worried at all.
As she wakes an hour later I hold her in the early morning light and whisper, “I am so very proud of you.”
She wipes sleep from her eyes, “For what?”
Cupping her beautiful young face in my aging hands, “For the courage you garnered to write what you did last night.”