Certain
It’s silly really, a woman of a certain age dividing my life into before and after I lost her.
She was very old, living in a world I couldn’t reach, beyond signs of recognition or communication
But she loved me.
I am certain of that.
How old do I have to grow before I don’t feel the longing for her presence anymore?
How long until I stop feeling the loss of being able to talk over my troubles with her?
It has been decades since she could advise me, but still she loved me.
I am certain of that.
Perhaps that is the hardest loss, knowing that no one will ever love me that way again
A mother’s love is unlike any other; I learned that when I had my own child. He is a man now and doesn’t need me in the ways he once did. But still, he knows I love him.
I am certain of that.
