Mother, Daughter

Why couldn’t I have been the person I am now, when you were alive?

We fought, a wasp you called me.

Ice and fire. You always seemed cold, I was young; filled with heated passions.

We clashed fiercely. Like wild big horn rams. One victorious. But of what? Emotion? Love? Stupidity?

Why couldn’t I have been patient?

I read your journals – your papers. Found a woman I never knew, would never know.

I regret so much, my impatience, quick anger, the things I did, said, didn’t do, and should have done.

Too much alike?

Too different?

I loved you, unaware of that fact that I may have been. Did I tell you? I hope so.

You pop into my life at odd moments. A phrase or action that is so you. How could I not have been kind enough to let you give me the gifts of you? You taught me well, kindness, and couth, strength. Why could I not see it then, and shown you a kinder me.?

Your New England proper tempered with my southwest ease. Our passions (for you had passion too) created the person I have become, will be.

I regret so much, I see now who you were, just a bit, and see you as a person who formed what, and who I am.

Ice and fire.

Mother and daughter.