Mother’s day.

I think of her smile.

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I woke up. It’s already late. 1pm. I look at my wife laying next to me and smile. I remember the day. It’s mother’s day. I remember in sharp detail that I live with my parents. I can’t help but feel like I’m dragging my partner down in life. My chest heaves and I feel sick. This is a recurring thought. It comes when I wake up. Every day. But today I should be happy. I am thankful. My mother, I think to myself, must be at church. I imagine that the priest is just finishing up communion. My mother, fussing with my sister. Keeping her happy and content. She’s always been good at keeping my sister happy and content. In fact, she’s always been good at keeping most of her family happy and content. That sickly feeling comes back again. This time I remember all the times I was suffering from a bout of stress or depression. The amount of times I pushed her away because I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t like it when she sees me weak. It’s a silly thought. She saw me at my weakest before. I chalk it up to some macho man thought. My wife spurs me awake. She says we’re supposed to meet my family at our favorite Chinese restaurant for lunch. Depression hits hard again. But I push through. I think of my mom and I get up. I realize how much I think of my mom when I need a push. I hope she knows how much I love her. Sometimes I hope I know how much I love her. It’s a strange feeling to think that I have to remind myself actively. I think…. I think something is wrong with me but I wave the feeling away. I sink ever so slightly into the foam that comprises my bed as I roll to the edge. A tuft of fur pushes against me. My cat reminds me gently that he’s here. I’d like to think he loves me. I hope he does. It’s mother’s day. And here I am hating myself and loving my mother. It’s a pattern. One I trapped myself into many years before. I think of her face. Like my grandma’s now. She’s getting just a bit older. But she’s still beautiful. I love her. I hate that I hide so much of myself away but maybe I’m just scared she won’t understand. My wife checks in on me, nudging me to get up. Was I not already? No I’m still sinking into the foam. I wake up and take a deep breath. Happy mothers day. Thank you mom for unknowingly pushing me to keep going. The sun’s bright. I think of her smile.

–Skipperstitch

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