As a child I remember my mother in so much desolation, sitting on her bed and tears streaming down her face.
I recall her being unable to move from her bed and reaching for a shirt, the closest object for her to conceal her sobbing.
As a child I never understood what it was to be in despair or to cry with a broken heart. As an adult I can now comprehend the hurt. Suffering from our own battles is not an easy journey. I yearn to be a mother. I want to wake each morning and not be washed over by a numbing sense of loss.
It is time for me to let go and accept that maybe all that I desire is not a part of the plan. Instead I can only continue to be grateful for the beautiful life that I have.
For now, I sit here and I cry as my mother did. Into her clothes.