By lex, on May 8th, 2011
Hallmark may make a killing off of it, but it’s still worth remembering: We were all of us brought into this world in pain, for love, with hope.
My mom was coal country Irish, second generation off the boat. Red-haired and flashy tempered. A child of the depression, who never quite got over the hungry times and consequentially kept the larder full to bursting. Left an abusive and drunken husband when good Catholic girls were supposed to suck it up, put on a pretty face, cover the bruises with make-up. Headed down to Washington DC with two daughters in tow, made her own way in the world as a professional before that had become anything like usual. Met my father, got married again, and bore me at the age of 40, about the time some of her friends from the Wyoming Valley were having grandkids. Raised me the best way she could, talked me to sleep at night, answered all my restless questions until the questions had run out.
Mom, I miss ya. Sorry I never got to know you as an adult. Sorry you never got to see your grandchildren. Sorry you went the way you did.