Monday, August 5, 2013

I started writing this before I went out of town, and maybe it was going to be longer, but I think I'll just leave it at this.

I have no memories of feeling close to my mother.  No memories of being happier for her presence.  I remember that she put enormous time and effort into making sure that I had every opportunity I wanted.  There was a summer when she drove me to Del Mar and back once a week, in order for me to, not only resume horseback riding lessons, but to get those lessons from a particular instructor who no longer worked in Rancho Bernardo.  But that's not the same thing, at all.  Spoiled was an adjective she would throw at me, later.  To which I mutinously thought, whose fault is that?

Surely, I cried in her arms.  She must have held me, and rocked, me, and shielded me.  I must have felt loved.

But I don't remember.

The interviewer kept asking me what was the hardest part of distancing myself from my mother.  She asked what things made it easier, how people helped.  But it was the easiest thing in the world.

The hard part was believing that I could.

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