May 2, 2022 @ 9:17 AM

 

It was Mother’s Day, 1984.  I walked into the room with a massive vase of fragrant red roses and baby’s breath.  My mother lay in the hospital bed on the far side of the room. 

Murmurs of delight came from 3 other patients in the room.  But, my mother deliberately and defiantly looked away as I set down the vase and cheerfully wished her a happy mother’s day.  

She pursed her lips and turned her head to the window.  I waited … and waited.  And then quietly left.  

Deep Wounds of ChildhoodWhen I returned the next day, the roses were at the nurse’s desk.  Another silent statement of rejection.  

I went back every day to try to make my mother understand that I loved her ............

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