Please be my mother again.

Growing up, my mother was often unkind. Occasionally, she would display a softer side, but those moments were rare and had nothing to do with me or my siblings. As we entered our teenage years, we all went our separate ways - some because they turned eighteen, others ended up in jail, and me, well, you know how I left. Our instinct to survive overpowered any desire we had to establish a normal relationship with our mother. However, being me, I decided to give it a try.

I would call her regularly to check in and see how she was doing. Her response was always the same - "I'm fine!" But her tone made it clear that she didn't need us, even if she did. I wouldn't prolong the conversation, simply replying, "Okay, I'm glad you're doing well." She would quickly hang up the phone. I repeated this routine every week until she started opening up about her day, and then I began calling her twice a week. Eventually, we were speaking every day.

I must emphasize that I was determined to have my mother in my life. I saw her tough exterior as a shield, protecting herself from the relentless judgment of my siblings who made her believe her mistakes were irredeemable. I didn't share their perspective. As long as she wanted to be my mother, I wanted to be her daughter.

Mother and I started calling each other multiple times a day. Our conversations covered a wide range of topics - food, scripture, men, and children. Nothing was off-limits. It felt incredible. A day I never thought would come had arrived, but how long would it last?

S