When the day comes, will I hate myself?
Will I immediately stop and think of all that I did causing me to miss out on better memories with her?
As a teenager I would get so enraged with her that I envisioned myself sitting at the edge of her deathbed, whispering all the things I had done that she would disapprove of in her ear.
Maybe the pain she would feel from the shame her daughter brought to her family would come close to matching mine growing up.
Seething dreams of adolescent girls thrusting scalding irons on the faces of neglectful sanctimonious Mamis.
Isabel Allende nails my biggest fear in her novel, Violeta. The fear of a time when new memories with Mami will cease to exist.
For months I was unable to mourn her loss
I thought about her often with a hard lump in my chest.
Going over the years she had been in my life
and blaming her for the perpetual despondency.
For not having loved me enough
and for having done so little to connect with me.
I was angry over the opportunities we missed to be mother and daughter.
Violeta, a Novel by Isabel Allende
When the day comes, will I hate myself for these nightmares I had no control over?
For the years of thoughts, I have entertained?
When the day comes, I pray to be grateful.
For the distance I’ve come in my journey with Mami.
I pray for lasting memories of our recent connection and the unchained melody of sweet dreams.
For finding my voice as I stand confidently bullet proof against Mami’s amalgamation of words as the raconteur of her own world.
I pray for inner peace.
For finally learning how to love her.
Can you relate to a complex relationship with your mother? Do you find solace in books that explore the same situations? Am I alone here? 🤔 Let me know in the comments below!
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