She wasn’t an easy person…understand not in the infamous being easy sense, she just wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. Safely said, her glass was always less than half-empty.

Who is kidding whom? It was empty.

My Reader might think this a rather harsh and hard-to-tell recollection of The Mother. She was exactly what she was. Harsh. Hard. She was The Mother.

The biggest regret was not having asked more questions, not that they would have been answered nor would they have been answered truthfully. The Mother painted answers with half-truth colours. Questions could have been asked but weren’t.

The Mother died a little over two years ago in a hospital bed mentally alone, just as she had spent almost all her ninety plus years of life. Alone in spite of marriage and raising a family. She chose silent closure but was not afforded physical isolation her last three days of life and those last hours of breath. Someone was there.

The Daughter. The bastard child who didn’t know but The Family knew. The Daughter who was The Mother’s unfavoured one for being the unplanned future that held nothing but whispers of shame and in those long-ago days nothing but scandal. The Secret.

Picture The Daughter sitting beside the bed holding The Mother’s hand, reading a twice-borrowed library book*. The book having been loaned by a friend for comfort. For caring. For the duration.

In pain but coming in and out of drug-induced sleep The Mother asked that The Daughter read the book aloud. To ease the quiet. To fill the time. Neither The Mother nor The Daughter knew during the reading of those early chapters, that the story was the mirror of The Mother’s true-to-life regret and final redemption. Little did either of them know that the lifetime of words The Mother refused to acknowledge aloud were being read to her by the one person to whom she should have spoken to and who would have listened.

The Daughter. Her Daughter.

So many questions.

*Ten Things I’ve Learnt About Love by Sarah Butler (2013)

48 thoughts on “CONVERSATION CUL-DE-SAC…

  1. It’s a love story between daughter and mother, but a love story full of pain. Don’t most of us wish we had asked those questions before it was too late? Your words and imagery is beautiful and full of depth.


  2. Those moments of reconciliation seem to come too often too late, at least for the one fading from life. Death, dementia, detachment… but we living still attempt to grasp at the attempt to connect, if not for the relationship itself, but for our memory.


  3. Powerful as ever R. Memories, trials and tribulations, bold and vivid with pain that does not always heal but resides at the back of our minds and the depths of our hearts. J.


  4. So sad. I had all this Daughter did not receive and only hope I have passed that gift to mine. I wanted to somehow reach out and lift the loneliness out of the scene for both. Beautiful writing. You made me feel. Very fitting illustration; the empty chair, the colors and the tiny space.


  5. A few days late … 😦 but wow … what a powerful piece. 😀 The painting of a chair, yet a story of a person sitting in the chair as seen from another. Much going on here, including the powerful words. I’m also thinking intertwining this post with past ones – thus hoping the survivors have found some peace.

    I took a closer look at the painting … love your use of multiple shades.


    1. Ah…there you are. Never late, aFa…just in time! It’s just you and me to work out the dance steps for the upcoming recital since Lovely Miss D. is away on holiday. I’ve been practicing!
      And yes…peace has come. Thank you so much for making those past connections….good word “survivor”…but just the one survivor. All is good. With you, as well, I’m hoping. Grins…

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Darling, I’ve lost your last post somewhere here…in the deep recesses of my computer.
      Try as I may, Try as I might, I can’t seem to find it and make it all right.
      Know I’m still loyal. Know I still follow. Won’t make excuses for behavior that seems shallow. Keep on writing. Keep on posting. I’ll just finish our chores both yours and mine.
      In keen anticipation of our future…next sighting!


  6. Raye— Wow!!! Things sure weren’t what they seemed to an observer like me. You’re deep!! I wish we could talk about our childhoods in person. I absolutely love your watercolor paintings!!!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Goodness AC never expected to see you here! Thanks for the compliment on my watercolours.
      I’m self-taught but am just now enrolled in a class…hoping to get good. Childhood surprise? Well, your comment just burst my bubble on yours. Perhaps you and J. should fly up to Portland. That would be great. See you soon then? xoxRR


      1. Someday I’d live to fly to Portland to see you. Maybe CONNIE would be up for it. Be sure you let us know if you’re going to be down in this neck of the woods.


  7. I was touched. We all feel we might have dones- things differently. Afterwards. But at the time…we carry on doing things the same. Beautiful, restrained.


  8. Raye, you painted with a words a poignant and painful and too common an experience. It is quite moving. Thanks my friend. Keith


  9. So very beautiful. In some fashion, I was there. We were able to utter a few real sentences that helps now thinking back through life.


    1. I’ve been told there are many of us who have taken this journey. Some who are still on it. Memories….some good some not-so. It’s the journey that makes us who we are. Thank you so much for your comment.


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