Mother And Daughter
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#19 Mother And Daughter
What woman, with pain coursing through her labouring body,
Inhaled and exhaled in horror...knowing that death was closer than
The Priest?
What mother remembered the knife that gave her infant daughter
Life...
Then cursed her daughter-ravaged body...cursed her blood.
Mother. Mother, was this woman you?
Mother. Mother, rosary-seeking your way to God.
I can excuse. I can forget...but,
Mother, why have you never forgiven me?
What pale, exhausted mother, free of me unnaturally,
Birthed me in the morning light, only to punish me in later years for
Staying under the Sun?
What Heaven-bound mother knelt long years in pews,
Praying for me...what gratification was revealed to her
In the sight of God, haloed in thorns...His Cross
Suspended in silent darkness?
She is old. Her clouds are dimming. Her time to laugh is
Quickly finishing.
We never laughed together.
We never laughed.
Lord...I do not ask to be forgiven. I do not think that You should, but
If You see...and see to care... if You are really there, then hear:
Through my fault, through my most grievous fault...I have tried.
But I have lost the way to go home.
I am afraid.
Lord...I am not worthy to begin that journey again.
Must I sin to be forgiven? Christ, I cannot forgive.
Must I be wronged before I can pardon? Lord, I cannot forget.
I do not ask to be forgiven.
I do not think that You should...perhaps a time may come.
But, if You are there...and understand,
All I ask is a place in the Sun.
The Sun is behind me.
My Mother stands in my shadow.
She is a large part of my darkness.
Once...I was part of hers.
Certain is it that there is no kind of affection so purely angelic as of
a father to a daughter. In love to our wives there is desire; to our sons,
ambition; but to our daughters there is something which there are no words
to express.
-- Joseph Addison
Our daughters are the most precious of our treasures, the dearest
possessions of our homes and the objects of our most watchful love.
-- Margaret E. Sangster
There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's
words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to
be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that
feels like love itself.
-- John Gregory Brown
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A daughter is a miracle that never ceases to be miraculous...full of
beauty and forever beautiful...loving and caring and truly amazing.
Deanna Beisser
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