I wish you could see me now
I wish I could show you how
I’m not who I was
I used to be mad at you
A little on the hurt side too
But I’m not who I was
I found my way around
To forgiving you some time ago
But I never got to tell you so
I found us in a photograph
I saw me and I had to laugh
You know, I’m not who I was
You were there, you were right above me
And I wonder if you ever loved me
Just for who I was
When the pain came back again
Like a bitter friend it was all that I could do
To keep myself from blaming you
I reckon it’s a funny thing
I figured out I can sing
Now I’m not who I was
I write about love and such
Maybe ’cause I want it so much
I’m not who I was
I was thinking maybe I
I should let you know that I am not the same
But I never did forget your name, hello
Well the thing I find most amazing
In amazing grace is the chance to give it out
Maybe that’s what love is all about
I wish you could see me now
I wish I could show you how
I’m not who I was
~Brandon Heath
I was doing my morning routine. Walking around our house, tidying up, and fixing anything that’s out of place. I made the bed. Arranged the throw pillows on our couch. I folded a blanket the kids had left in the living room, last night, and put it away. They used to make “forts”, out of blankets. It’s been awhile, since they’ve done that. I began to imagine showing my mother who I am now. To show her my style. The way I decorated our new home. How my kids have grown. Their bedrooms are full of their own personal touches. Wyatt’s a little baseball star. He was on the wrestling team, this year. He’s grown, probably a foot, since she last saw him. Mj is a beautiful little girl. The last time my mother knew her, she was very into her dollhouse, and Barbie dolls. Mj insists on keeping the Barbie car my mother gave her. It was her birthday, three and a half years ago. My mother had come to our home, just days earlier. She was high, drunk, or likely both. She’d beat on windows, torn my flowers from their planters. She screamed how she was going to kill everyone inside. Then, she pulled into our driveway, on Mj’s birthday, and the kids were outside playing. Mj screamed, and ran into the house. She sobbed. We went outside, after my mother had gone. She’d thrown a birthday gift into our yard. It was Mj’s little Barbie car. I understand why it’s special to my sweet girl. Anything that makes you feel like my mother might’ve had some love for you, becomes precious. The memory of that day, when she came over with a present, is much harder for me, than most of the ones when she did cruel things. I feel guilty, even though we had such good reason to refuse to go out to her. Somewhere inside her, had she found a moment of clarity, and really just wanted to give my daughter that gift? Mj likes baby Yoda, (Grogu), now. She draws little cartoons. She started wearing a training bra, just recently. They’ve grown, so much. So have I. I’m not who I was. I’m stronger. I’m braver. I’m so much happier. My mother doesn’t know me, or my babies, anymore. I wish it wasn’t how it is, but I can’t make someone be somebody else. I’ve accepted this. Still, I feel a little nostalgic for something I haven’t even experienced. Like showing my mother around my new home.
Chronicles in Submission 
Maybe it’s grief for the past, present, and the foreseeable future for what you didn’t but could/should have had as your mother’s daughter.
The last line of this post is so poignant.
At least you have become somewhat free from the loss of an ideal through the everyday mothering you do so lovingly with your own children.
Your rolls look yummy. How do you stay so tiny?? 😂😂😩
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LOL I almost never sit down! I’m always always doing something. My ADD, mixed with my desire to keep everything in its rightful place, keeps me busy. My kids tease me too, because I don’t eat very much at one time. “Oh, mama’s full. She ate a grape earlier.” I typically eat small things, through the day. I like to make yummy things, for my family. I do eat them, too. I just don’t overdo it. I tell everybody that I literally eat whatever I want! In moderation. I think that’s the trick. Also, my metabolism is crazy. They always struggle to get and keep me sedated, for surgeries. I’ve been told many times, they had to give me way more meds than they expected to, because my body burned through everything they were giving me. Those shots at the dentist, to numb you when they’re filling a cavity…they don’t work for me. In seconds, I’ve metabolized it. I have to be put under, or tolerate the pain, every single time!
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