“You were supposed to protect me! I do love you, ok?! I do! But every day I try not to. I try so hard, I pray to not love you anymore, but I can’t stop loving you. Are you listening to me! I can’t stop loving you! And I hate myself for it.”
By then, I had developed that sticky-dirt feeling that comes with desperation. I turned away, frustrated. She snatched me by the arm and spun me back to face her. Time, the ghost of cancer, kissed her pretty lips. And in that moment I saw what stirred in me both pride and pleasure: a truth in my mother’s smile, and her true-love’s measure.