when you were me
March 19, 2015 § 2 Comments
Do you remember when we first met? When you gathered your grievances into an introduction and named the injustice of your treatment as a daughter-in-law? You itemized each indiscretion, pointing an unforgiving finger at your husband’s family; the alcoholic father-in-law who was verbally abusive, the emotionally recluse mother-in-law who treated you as insignificant despite your best efforts to please, the favoritism in treatment of your children, their grandchildren, or the value of money over relationships.
I never met your father-in-law. I barely knew you when I watched your mother-in-law die, this stranger whose memories had been stolen by Alzheimer’s. What she forgot, you remembered. Perhaps she filled such a space in your mind it was inevitable you might become her or assign me your role; accidentally or intentionally you have created a cycle of unhappiness that has consumed any kindness between us. We are living your past, but I will not become you.
Do you remember when you were me?
scribblechic 
It is not often I am stuck for words, but this is one. Perhaps I will therefore share an impression, that of a tree standing in a field. Winds come and go, seasons too and over time the tests it faces only cause it to become stronger. Where once there was just a cold empty expanse, now there exists a home for those who need shelter from the storm, a solitary haven that offers the hope of togetherness; community.
I think the words you found are lovely, Maurice.