A brush of soft hair and a wave of the aroma of roses over powering me, my eyelids slowly sank until all I could feel was my heartbeat dancing to the thumps of her very own. She would sing to me in hushed murmurs, and as the open arms of sleep grasped me, I overdosed on her sweet, warm breath. My nightly lullaby was my peace of mind and comfort. In her arms I would lay cradled, protected from the harsh nightmares and realities of the world. As she breathed out, I would breathe in, and in that breath of maternal air, I would intake everything: who I was, who I wanted to be, who I would become. It was like she knew what the future held in store for me, and as she lay me to sleep, preparing me for the next day, she was breathing life into me.
For years I fell asleep to the breath of my mother, until I was old enough to misguide myself into thinking I did not need her lullabies anymore. As I withdrew from my seven year old self, I was no less a mama's girl but I did grow to disdain anyone's breath on my face. I placed myself into a bubble, and invasion of my personal space was enough to sentence you to the guillotine. This restriction included my mother, and I distanced from her. As a lost and bewildered adult, leaving my terrible teenage years behind me, I wish I had not left the comfort of my mother's arms, I wish she could have protected me from the world, and more so, myself.
I did not know. I still do not know, how much pain and sacrifice it took for her to raise me. How much times she must have stayed up crying, wondering how I was doing on my own. While I was busy convincing myself she did not care about me, she was busy convincing herself that I was okay and well. It was so easy to let lack and misuse of communication ruin the relationship of two people, so easy to hide behind the trivial matters of the day than face the ones pressing on your heart. I hid behind the distance between my mother and I, always ready to provide an excuse as to why I barely called. I had left my home at an early age, convinced that I could do a better job at raising me than she was doing. Oh, how wrong was I.
