Thinking of my mother
From "The Pleasure of My Company" by Steve Martin. It was not that I missed her; she was far from me by the time it was all over that our communications had become spare. She lived in me dead or alive. Even now, the absence of her letters is the same as getting them for when I have the vague notion that one is due, I feel the familiar sensation of comfort that I did when I held a physical letter in my hand. She lives in me dead or alive. I'm still struggling with the horror that the mother who I carry is the one I didn't recognize - the new one - the one who was sad and afraid and didn't like me. I hope and fear for the day that she steps aside for the funny, warm, supportive mother I spent most of my life thinking I could never live without her. On that day that I welcome her back into my heart, I will break.