I hate that I gave them children, a lifelong bond.
Parents are Made, Not Born
Trinidad speaks to me with a strong roar followed by a soft whisper it calls me home. Waves rise up in the powerful ocean curling inward looking deep within itself. Displaying its beauty shining as clearly as glass for a few brief seconds before it crashes in and shatters with immense force. The water then softly fades away and leaves behind an untouched surface that gleams like a mirror on the shore. My feet are grounded in the damp coarse sand that welcomes me latching to my skin. Cool wisps of wind wrap around me and roughly kisses my face leaving behind lightly blushed cheeks and tiny scratches. Salty air fills my lungs and nourishes my soul reviving my spirit and charging my body with its immense energy. Gloomy grey clouds roll high above as seagulls swirl and sing their songs, swiftly swooping down to claim their prize of a sea creature meal.
Her mind buzzed with excitement and worry, unsure of what path to take next. As if in a knee jerk reflex, she decided to walk to the art gallery and distract herself for the afternoon until she was truly ready to decide for herself what she should do. Standing in the art exhibit, surrounded by an array of beautiful and unique displays, she found herself caught in a trance, as if one piece spoke to her. In a dark corner to her right a single ray of golden sunlight danced, highlighting a delicate artifact that was suspended by a single golden thread. In harsh contrast, a frail rusted birdcage that was weathered and old, housed the delicate creation.
The marks of a mother are etched on her abdomen, once her favorite region to display. Now a canvas of her children’s first of many accomplishments. If nowhere else they have left their mark on her in this world. Full of life that is eager to be lived. Sad for all the heartache and pain that she has endured.