Daughter

 Today was a hard day. I walked through my office doors “feeling fine” and immediately broke down into tears. I know some days you don’t want to go to work but geesh. I felt embarrassed. Raw. Let me tell you, there is no way to convince your stunned co-worker that you are fine while riding up the elevator with your eyes puffy, your nose red, and tears still streaming down your face. I had to tell the truth. And my truth for today is that I’m not ok. I miss my mama. I just want to tuck underneath her, and have her rock me in that way only mother’s can do (do they teach that in a class). I want to breathe her in and feel the unspoken unconditional love that comes from being joined by the womb for 9 months and through the heart for forever.

You would think 17 years in I would have this down to a science. But nothing is fair in love and heartache.  Having lost my mother in my younger years I look back on the hopeful and scared young woman who never had to figure herself out because she was always defined by her mother and wish I could say something, anything, to make her journey easier. I didn’t know who I was without her. She couldn’t die. Everyone seemed to realize it was happening except for me.

I knew my mother to be someone who lived for her child. I thought she could be saved by me as well. If I could just graduate college and get home to her I could be what helps make her stronger, better. Instead I, the developing woman who always lived as defined by my mother didn’t get the chance to tell her things, like I get why you get frustrated with Daddy – why do guys do what they do? I get why you were so strict with me because some of these chicks is GROWN. Instead, I was left with this void. Who was I without her? I didn’t know. So I measured my own progress and development as a woman against an unfinished narrative filling in my own blanks. When I was the same age as my mother when she married my father I thought I too should be married. When I was the same age as she when I was born I took stock of my life to see how close I was. Even with my career I measured myself against my childhood knowledge and experiences relating to my mother’s career to see if I would cause her to pause and say well done.

As I approach 40, unmarried, no kids and with multiple accomplishments on my resume I have finally learned to lay down the comparison. To put aside the questions and unsaid statements and live for the woman I have discovered myself to be. I am Raynette’s child, but I am Cherrón, all on her own, too.

Author: Cherrón