I lost her. She taught me ‘How To’. Other than the instincts that a newborn comes with, she taught me everything. My spellings were her bane, but that’s what kept us connected. Even at forty three, even with spell check, she was just a phone call away. Never judging never commenting until asked. She was balm and bandage to herself and to others.
A strip of woven material used to bind up a wound or to protect an injured part of the body. Her legs were swathed in bandages. So, she learnt to fly. Her wings were weak, shredded by the ravages of time, circumstance and situation. She then sought out some balm. It would pain her clearly, but she would take it with her into infinity. She bound herself, for the world that is addicted to beauty, and was presentable again.
The pieces of wings displayed a brilliance beyond what anyone could understand!
They wondered how she managed to carry these fragments of herself so fragile so precarious. Thus torn and worn she reflected a light that shone…. Golden and colourful….. full of Life.
In loving memory of my Mother.