Sunday Prayer

My mother wasn't someone who raised and protected me so much as someone I had to overcome, survive and endure.  She was someone who, if I had to describe her and I knew no one was listening, I would describe as awful and dangerous.

I know I will be nicer to everyone, forever, every chance I get, I told myself over and over again when I was growing up.

I know I will do my best to not be like her and I will do my best to forgive myself for not belonging---for being afraid of so many different things.

So on Mother's Day I say a prayer and a wish for myself and for my mother for falling so short of The Goal: The Love Between Mother and Child.  I say a prayer and a wish that, in the big scheme of things, that our unhealing will be absorbed into all the rest of the walking wounded, the confused and hurting others who are trying, valiantly, to make their way even though they feel incomplete and oh-so tender.

Even though the rest of the world writes poems and songs and stories about how purely mothers love their children.  I am talking about those people who have a hard time understanding those poems and songs and stories.

I say a wish and a prayer for the moving forward and the knowing that I and We and She and They will continue to pry our damaged hearts open and reach our arms toward the trees and the sky and we will forage our way toward endless knowledge and this will start us on our journey of discovery and longing and it will be because of the trauma that we will be driven forward and we will have the deepest knowing that we will all be okay.

Yours In Terminal Uniqueness,
Thelma Thinks-a-Lot