Today my mother would’ve been 95. Instead she died when she was 58. Just saying that I have tears in my throat.
For the last weeks I’ve been reading a book about trauma, particularly early trauma. And while there were certainly a number of things in my childhood that induced trauma, somehow I knew my mother loved me and that made all the difference. Feeling tears again as I look at this little one and how bright she looks. I’m guessing I would’ve been about one years old here. A lot happened that seemingly crushed her spirit. But the one thing I know for sure is my mother always wished me well. For that I am profoundly grateful.
I was looking for a photo of my mother and didn’t find one. Instead I came across this photo of my young self. I trust there is a reason.
