Grandma resumed brushing, each stroke gentle and soothing.
“Your mother is broken in ways I couldn’t fix. I tried, God knows I tried. But she’s always run from her mistakes instead of facing them.”
“So I’m a mistake?”
“No, honey.
You are a gift. The best thing that ever happened to me. Your mother just can’t see past her own selfishness to recognize what she’s throwing away.”
I leaned into her embrace, breathing in the scent of lavender that clung to her clothes.
“Will you ever leave me too, Grandma?” I whispered.
“Never,” she said fiercely.
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“As long as there’s breath in my body, you will always have a home with me.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
When I was 11, Grandma insisted we visit for a “family dinner.” She thought it was important to maintain some connection, however tenuous. Deep down, I hoped my mother realized what she’d thrown away and welcome me back with open arms.
Walking in, I saw her doting over my brother, laughing and proud… like she had never abandoned me.
One-year-old Jason sat in a high chair, mashed potatoes smeared across his chubby face. My mother wiped it away with such tenderness it made my chest ache.
She barely glanced at me.
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