A mother struggles, as she watches her husband and daughter argue and fight constantly about her struggle for independence, when everyone knows she is nowhere near ready for the "Real World"

Blame


Closing my eyes

allowing the tears to roll off my lashes,

down my reddened cheeks.

The bathroom door is closed.

It’s 4:30am and the tears just keep coming.

As I reflect upon the past few months, then, the past few years

my stomach clenches again, then more tears.

Wiping away the pain from minutes ago

to make room for the next round.

Searing pain in my heart

as memories slash away at

what is left of the pieces of me,

that lie beneath the rubble of a world

that has just crashed down all around me.

Squeezing my eyes shut

the tears roll once again.

Had it been my fault all this time?

Could I have prevented any of it?

Was I being selfish?

Or just guilty of trying to build a suitable life

for my fractured family?

It seems almost irrelevant though,

in the spectrum of events, that has led us to this point.

Further fracturing has occurred.

Desperate to fix it

But am I too late?

Are we broken beyond repair?

Can I right, what may have been set into motion, by my own hands?

Is the damage still fixable?

Did I push them into making the choices that they have?

I can be so determined, so demanding...

So selfish.

Maybe too selfish.

Maybe I am to blame.

A mother is always to blame...

Sandra Ferrara Gentry 2007