So I've begun the memoir about my mother. The funny thing is I absolutely can't write it in her voice and as I write, I'm unearthing truths about myself. I'm excavating my memories, searching for her story. Her story is almost too tragic and too personal to tell. It's a story she opted not to share with the world at large. Meanwhile, my story is one filled with the happiness she created for me.
It's weird, the story I'm telling is about my future. As I write my potential future is unwrapping. My future and my past are sewn together by rich memories created from my mother's bond to me. It's as though her story continues into mine. Her legacy is becoming mine. She was striving for the life she wanted. While I don't think she got all of it, I think her daughter's life will complete her dream. The memories of our past are shadows that follow us into our future. The dreams and prayers of a mother are coming to fruition in the daughter. It's as though God is creating a quilt. He's stitching her piece of the quilt to mine and together we're forming something - perhaps a piece of Him? Not sure.
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