brasandranties fought our mama the whole way through. we have early memories of our hot-headedness, assertions we were right, desire for attention, for things to go our way (some things never change). our mama bore the brunt.
she was at once our caretaker, our confidante, our problem-solver and our support. she was where we pushed ground, tested thresholds, experimented with lengths and leeway. at once exasperated by our differences and frustrated by our similarities, she still shouldered our pain (sometimes purposefully) and she’d have taken more of it if she could. even when we were an evil shit, she’d open her arms a saint. she was home.
still today, in our battle she’s the bunker. never-endingly in our corner while the world is throwing flames. she sees behind the lacquer, inside our insistences of strength. it’s only her that can soften our edges, warm us to the world. despite declaring our independence, she remains: our caretaker, our problem-solver, our support. our home.
we’re sure she faults herself for our differences – for the clashes that still pepper our time together. but brasandranties doesn’t bug about it much. we’ve realized they’re not points at which we won’t connect – they’re not places we’ll never make the jump. our differences are just the things we’ll learn. the lessons we’ll teach each other.
in fact it’s the life (the home) she’s provided that’s allowed us to develop such different perspectives. a generational evolution of ideas, of what’s possible. it’s all thanks to her. it’s all because of her. it’s the best gift a mother could give, and we’re forever thankful. love you mama x
mother’s love is peace. it need not be acquired, it need not be deserved (erich fromm)