It was the third day and it hurt too much. She opened the door and marched in. “Grow up!” she demanded of her mother.
My mother is afraid of me. Did her fear begin in this moment? Probably not. The sole daughter amidst her boys. I suspect it was the recreation of herself that terrified.
Fear transferred from grandmother. My mother, the quick witted daughter, a replica of her unwanted husband. She sat in silent vigil with my dying grandmother. Closure but not approval.
Dissonance. Vicarious achievement meant to validate her existence. Eviscerated pride. “ I always got High Distinctions” to my “Distinction”.
Mother. Daughter. Best friends. Daughter. Mother. The way it was. The way it is. Not the mother I knew anymore. Bits stroked as if they never were.
I would take away her fear if I knew how.