The first peace came in first moments of knowing the danger had passed. There would be other dangers, but they were for another day. All clear.
For a while, it had been scary. Could she leave enough for them if she had to go?
She wanted to see them through. Any mother would.
For a while, she had sweated the small stuff. How little they knew, and she made sure to keep it that way. But one day on an institutional couch in a room with a square window looking out on a swirl of leaves and branches, a word or two delivered with measured compassion tugged her. All that had been so neatly buttoned up poured out. A few minutes later she applied lipstick and stepped back into her bravado. She liked this feeling that she might conquer anything, and to feel that life’s normal irritations could not touch her. She made many plans for ‘after this time’. She would achieve so much, give so much, and never be ordinary again.
But she was…
I have written on what is Mothers’ Day in some parts of the world. Happy Mothers’ Day to all and particularly those without their mothers today.
It was prompted by writing a prompt, “The First Peace…” from Writing From The Soul sent by Jane Brunette today. It is always a welcome addition to the inbox. I use prompts if my mind has been busy, and my writer soul has been out of action.