Sometimes I catch myself looking too closely at the lines around your eyes. The way they paint your skin. I find them beautiful, this sign of age and love and life. An art piece designed by God and life and trials and happy moments. I try to remember when your skin was smooth. I can only see it in old photographs. I wonder what I will look like after living like you. Everyone always said I looked like you. An almost perfect match. It never felt that way. You are far too perfect. Too beautiful. Too strong. Too funny. Too much of everything I want to be and everything I will never be.

I catch myself remembering when I was younger. The moments when I was so small they may have been dreams. Everything was always loud. Too much to do. Not enough time for anything. I watched you. The way you ran about the house. Watching children. Cleaning messes. Cooking dinner. Making calls. Answering the door. I watched and followed. I wanted to learn. I wanted to make it easier for you. I didn’t like the way you sighed into Dad’s arms when he came home. The way you seemed to disappear until one of us cried long enough for you to return. I tried to soothe them myself. It never worked, until it did.

They listened to me. My little brothers were soothed by the words I copied from you. I learned which books they liked best. My older brothers were tired and stressed. I learned the best way to make them laugh using your voice. I felt like you. I liked making them happy and I liked the way you smiled more often. Your wrinkles became more pronounced with bright eyes instead of tears.

I liked to be like you. I wanted to be like you. Until I didn’t. Surrounded with messes I didn’t make. Children that weren't mine. Food I couldn’t prepare. Calls I was terrified to make. Doors I refused to open. I became angry. I didn’t want to be like you. I felt like another mother. Another parent for siblings older and younger. I hated that I had your eyes. I hated that I had your voice. I hated that I shared your responsibility. But there was some light in your eyes, some of your laughter through the house. You were brighter in a natural way. You went out with Dad. You had time for friends I'd never met before. I could handle everything. I promised you. I really could.

And I did. I handled it all. I wanted to make your life easier. Juggling two jobs; one far too thankless and wageless. I could make it easier, even if it made me hate you a little more every day. I would make your job easier, but I wasn’t made to be a mother. Not yet anyway. From baby dolls and bottles to growing boys and homework in what felt like seconds. A stupid path I chose. I could feel myself crumbling into something I wasn’t. I looked too much like you, but I had a hatred that not even I could comprehend.

It wasn’t your fault. You tried. You really did. I insisted on it and you were tired. If I wanted to step up, who were you to say no? You and Dad could barely handle it on your own. I wasn’t going to let any of your efforts go to waste. I had promised myself and God. You would know you were loved and appreciated. My teacher taught me that imitation was the greatest form of flattery. You deserved more than just flattery.

I promise you it wasn’t your fault. Sometimes I still get angry at everyone, but never you. You were doing your best. I could never blame you.

And I still remember watching you, wanting to be you. I still want to be you. Maybe I’ll take a little break before becoming a mother though. I don’t think I’ll be as good as you. I’ll never have your warmth or your smile or your patience or your kindness. I think I lost it on my way here. But I have my first wrinkle. It’s next to my right eye. I saw it in a mirror. It’s more of a crinkle, but I noticed it when you said a joke. I know you said it just to make me laugh. To make me feel better. To make me feel like a kid again. To say sorry again for everything you couldn’t do for me before. You said you could never apologize enough. I told you once was enough, but I’ll take the extra laughter and the extra smiles. They remind me of yours just like the wrinkle of happiness around my eye.

I wanted to be like you too young. I still want to, but now I think I understand. You were never your responsibilities or your duties or your relationships. You were the scent of apples. You were the color green. You were your red hair. You were the upturn of your lips. You were your love of sewing. You were your many baking ventures. You were the person who loved shrimp. You were your kind words. You were your laughter, the kind so full and loud that everyone can’t help but laugh too. But most importantly you were the wrinkles forming on your skin, etching every happy moment of your life into a tapestry.

My tapestry is just beginning. My motherhood is not quite here. My wrinkles are just starting to form. I want to be like you. I want to be myself, amplifying every little gift you give me. You gave me life, sorrow, and happiness. You gave me everything I am. I only hope that I can live up to it all. But I know what you’ll say. You don’t care as long as I’m me, as long as I’m happy. I love you for that. I love you for every mistake you made, every lesson you taught me, and for every moment you made me smile.

Mom, I’ve never met anyone quite like you and I’ll never be able to thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me. Though my childhood wasn’t perfect and neither was you, you were the best mother for me. You were everything I could have asked for and more. I love you and I can’t wait to see the rest of your wrinkles.

Love,

Your Daughter

Spring

She cries

Life is beginning

The ground is breaking

Branches make their way through her skin

They are plucked right out again

‘She is beautiful’ they say

The frost is leaving her body

More color sprouts on her skin

Newborn cries fill the air

Mothers die, swimming in their own blood

She watches after their children

‘She is cheery’ they say

The bright colors blind her

She does not recognize herself

Freedom feels within reach

Change comes quickly

Always shifting, always forgetting

‘She is young’ they say

Summer

She cries

Her skin is beginning to burn

It cracks and breaks

Laughter taunts her

Happiness mocks her

‘She is warm’ they say

She is burning

Sand slips between her toes

Inching its way into every part of her

Until there is nothing left

The water washes her away

‘She is fleeting’ they say

Laughter slowly dies

Music falls quiet

She watches romances fade away

Families drift apart

Bright smiles turn to soft lips

‘She is complete’ they say

Autumn

She cries

There is a chill in the air

Leaves keep her warm

Trampled into her skin

Bitterness enters her mind

‘She is changing’ they say

But she already has

She cannot stop shifting

Death feels within reach

But life clings on

Teetering on a strange edge

‘She is transient’ they say

She doesn’t recognize herself

Every hue of warmth but her own

She is growing lonely

Everyone hides themselves away

As she withers

‘She is dying’ they say

Winter

She cries

The busy streets keep her busy

She nips at every toe and nose

They laugh with warm smiles

She doesn’t know why

‘She is cozy’ they say

The twinkling lights agree

Frozen waters say otherwise

Kindnesses from strangers

More commonplace than ever

Unity is unconditional and fleeting

‘She is magical’ they say

She is barren and cold

They tread on her frozen form

Dancing and laughing

She watches them

She hopes to thaw too

‘She is full of life’ they say

Spring

She cries

Where is she?

Where are her thoughts?

Her feelings? Her heart?

I

Cannot

Feel

Her

I took shape for her

I loved her

I protected her

Where am I?

My form is shifting

Turning back to monstrous

Turning away from me, from her

Oh, why can’t I feel her?

I’m lost

Everything is emptiness

Pulling me everywhere and nowhere

Consuming and constraining

Where do I put it all?

I changed myself for her

Whatever she wanted

Whatever she needed

However I could help

Molded clay for her use

But

I

Cannot

Feel

Her

I miss her

I am her

She is gone

I disappear too