Mom

I have mostly modest gifts, but one that is extraordinary but of no monetary value is my ability to understand, remember, sort through who I was at 2 or 5, 4 or 7.

I still can see through mine younger eyes. Only now I see all the other stuff besides.

It is painful. No one is perfect. You tried. I know you did try. And when you tried you succeeded.

It took me a long time to realize that God always saw me clear–beautiful and lovable, valuable and dear.

The picture of us taken by dad’s cousin. The picture you must’ve taken of all of us–I am wearing a wild blue coat. Fuzzy.

I can look at these pictures now and feel the fierce heat of God’s love for that little girl.

I have always loved you. I cannot and won’t stop.

Your monster pictures of me are not real mom. They. Are. Not. Real.

What is real is this–

Somewhere in the world you have a grandchild who is your twin.

Resembling who you were when you were three. Adorable. When I look at this child I think–gosh, I was a cute kid.

When I look at this child I see you. And I love you both.

Think about it mom.

When you see me you see the Minotaur.

When I see you I see a beautiful little girl with a head of dark curls.

Beautiful child
Mom.

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