purvabrown : MyBlogHer Profile

I mourned my mother last night. I've been mourning her for more than a year now, but I think it was different this time. This time, I missed her with no reservations. No judgment. No blame. This time, when I cried for her, I was in her arms. Surrounded by her smell, her soft arms I would rub in my hands and say felt like kneaded flour. Not hard like mine. And I would laugh. She would smile. Oh, the arrogance of youth. I was twenty-nine when she died. I wasn't a mother.  Read more >