Beautiful, Deb, and I love your poem! It is so true that we don't want to become our moms and don't realize they did the best they could until we became a mother. It sounds like you have a great relationship with your daughter and granddaughter - how old is she?
What a sweet photo of Madi and Jes! To become motherless at the same time one becomes a mother is certainly bittersweet. And the complications of her mental illness must have been terribly confusing and painful growing up; especially during your teen years. A secret worn like a scarlet letter. Oof.
I love that photo...and Madi looks like a mini-me :-). It was confusing...I felt inferior to my classmates, like they had perfect mothers. Of course, I never knew what went on behind closed doors, nor did they know about my mom. It wasn't until 2016 when I admitted her mental illness or how she died to friends behind Facebook's privacy screen, and a year later publicly in a blog post. Secrets are toxic poison.
What a beautiful poem—it really resonated with me. Mother’s Day is bittersweet for me too.
Thank you Barb, I appreciate you connecting with the poem because it feels very personal to me.
Beautiful, Deb, and I love your poem! It is so true that we don't want to become our moms and don't realize they did the best they could until we became a mother. It sounds like you have a great relationship with your daughter and granddaughter - how old is she?
Thank you Cherie! My daughter is 38…where has the time flown?!?!
Oh, I agree! My son with the new baby is 34. It's gone by so fast!
Yes!! I always tell young parents, “The days seem endless, but the decades fly!”
Wise advice!
What a sweet photo of Madi and Jes! To become motherless at the same time one becomes a mother is certainly bittersweet. And the complications of her mental illness must have been terribly confusing and painful growing up; especially during your teen years. A secret worn like a scarlet letter. Oof.
I love that photo...and Madi looks like a mini-me :-). It was confusing...I felt inferior to my classmates, like they had perfect mothers. Of course, I never knew what went on behind closed doors, nor did they know about my mom. It wasn't until 2016 when I admitted her mental illness or how she died to friends behind Facebook's privacy screen, and a year later publicly in a blog post. Secrets are toxic poison.