Hello 🙂
Hubby took Youngest on the nursery woodwalk today, and I wandered home – after waving Eldest into his classroom and being let into the nursery quickly, even though the bell had rung, so I could hug Youngest goodbye a second time 😉
The sun was out, cheering yet blinding at its late November height. I was thinking of my story, and about who would be most prone to scary visions or nightmares. Write what you know came into my head.
I do think in disastrous newspaper headlines a lot.
I got home, and folded clothes watching a Miss Marple episode on YouTube that had the fierce protective streak of mothers as one of the central themes. Later, when eating lunch with Hubby, these statistics about the mental health of women after having children were featured on the news.
The universe had spoken…
From the other side, motherhood was more frightening than any dream. One grew cloven feet just trying to sort out laundry; familiar landscapes could all at once become claustrophobic and fraught with danger.
Sometimes there was no safehouse, others everything seemed so perfect one entertained the nagging feeling a door would burst open and the grim reaper himself appear; to cut down all those one cared about with abandon.
But one survivor, alone to bear the sole responsibility of remorse and memory – a bereft mother sifting through happy faces in a merry-go-round of pain, trying to see which sign she missed. Confirm that their fate was indeed her fault.
Yet all this morbid musing must be pushed aside! A long succession of joy built up; cherished, carefully planned and implemented. They must not know how double-edged a mother’s love can be. They must not guess how many hours she sat there praying that she may trade [her] longevity for their continued happiness.
This is too great a burden, too onerous a knowledge to impart.
(173 words)
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