The conflict happens because she’s right and she loves you.

And yet, we strive against all her rightness, her great ideas,

Her prodding us into things that challenge and define us.

 

She made memories for us, with the books she read us,

The games she played, the places she took us,

The worlds she opened up to us,

The things she made it possible for us to believe we could do.

 

And when we hit brick walls, because our world and our emotions

Were tumbling down around us, she stood tall

Offering help and suggestions

We weren’t ready to accept.

 

Her hand was always there to lead us across troubled waters,

Or beneath a gorgeous waterfall – pulling us back

From a cliff and we didn’t want help just then.

We wanted to show how grown up we were,

How ready to fly

And we strained against and fought and stormed

And stomped up to and over the edge at times –

Into free fall and collapse,

All broken and bent and crushed

And destroyed at the bottom of some infernal ditch.

 

And as a mother now myself, I can finally fully grasp

How desperately she wanted to help. How much she suffered

When I fled to do it my way, the hard way, because

Her grown thoughts, her bright mind and life experience

Didn’t fit on my stubborn shoulders.

 

I knew more, and so will my own. And hold back

I will have to – as she did, and watch from afar,

Because I won’t be welcome in their turmoil.

I’ll have so much to offer, so much to say.

So many ways to save them from themselves

And I’ll have to console myself that eventually,

Even the most wayward and strong-willed will remember,

Will turn some corner, and think they’ve figured

It out for themselves,

The lessons I’ve been laying at their feet

All this time.

 

Photo from here

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