If you were to take me and my mother side by side, you would instantly see the resemblance. I have my mother's eyes, her nose, her height, even my smile reflects my mother.
When I was 14, I would have never admitted this. I probably would have argued that I look nor do I act anything like my mother.
When I was 4, I would have done anything to be like my mother.
Now, I'd be blessed to carry on any characteristic of my mother.
When I was younger, I never left my mother's side. On occasion she might have gotten a 10 minute shower of solitude...if she was lucky. Her leg was constantly suffocated by my arms.
I never spoke to anyone but my mother or my sister, most of the time in whispers.
My mother was my lifeline.
My interpreter.
My best friend.
My play mate.
My safety blanket.
I remember when she would work at night as a waitress I would beg for one of her night gowns to hold and smell that night.
Breathing in her perfume as I drifted off to sleep is a memory I'll never shake.
Tugging on her skirts, wanting her to bend down so I could whisper something highly important in her ear.
But my whispers were important to her.
Every night she would scoop me up and plop down in that old comforting brown recliner in my bedroom and sing to me.
Rocking and softly grazing my face as she softly sang.
I don't remember what she would sing on those nights anymore.
But I remember what I felt when I was safely propped on her lap, feeling no need to have my eyes open to be aware of my surroundings.
I was safe.
I was at a peaceful resting place only my mother could take me to.
Who knew ten years later the last person I'd talk to about my problems would be my mother.
Shes probaly seen more rolling of my eyes than anyone.
All the rules and restrictions I never understood.
Why I couldn't hang out with the people I wanted.
Date the guy I wanted.
She was "ruining" my life!
I vividly remember the day I had a heated argument with my mother.
Over something I now see and understand as her shielding me from future tragedy.
I stormed away from her, pointed my scrawny teenage finger at her as I stopped and hurled around on the stairs...
I gritted my teeth in bitter tears and regretfully said, " I hate you. "
My stomach dropped.
I didn't hate her.
I loved her.
What I really meant to say was, " mom I need you to save me from myself. I need you."
I was really tugging on her old skirt like when I was 4 years old, saying, " mom, mom, lean in I have something to tell you."
Neither she nor I knew how hard I was tugging on her skirt that day.
I'm a distant person.
Often times I'm more distant to those I want to hold on to.
Still, when my mother sees me, she's pulls me tight to her, my head about to pop off.
My chin can almost sit on top of her head now.
I look older. Like a woman.
I don't cling to her leg.
Or crawl into her lap.
I act strong and independent.
But when my mother embraces me before I leave to go to my own home, I feel like that little four year old girl again.
Though I'm standing over her, in my heart I'm still crawled up in her lap, and her arms wrapped around me are like the soft songs she once sang over me.
I've tried to be my mother by walking and tripping in her heels.
I've tried to not be anything like my mother by being a snot-nosed brat of a teenager.
Now, when I brush my strawberry tinted hair, brush my teeth, and put on my eye makeup, I see my mother's red hair that once fell over me as I lay in her arms.
I see her smile when she laughs at my father's jokes.
I see her eyes when she talks about her day.
I am my mother's daughter.
I wouldnt have it any other way.
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