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When my mother was dying, I cried. I cried for many reasons. One reason I cried was for the mother she couldn’t be as much as for the mother she had been. I was given the gift to speak to her over the phone shortly before she died. While she was still lucid. I told her I loved her. And that she had been a good mother. She sort of chortled at that. There were no words needed. We both knew. I only wanted her to know that it had been good enough for her to be the only mother that she could be. That I loved her regardless and despite of it. We had peace in that moment. That was all that was needed. Of course, over the years since her death, things arose that I still needed to work through. Or should I rather say accept? I can’t express the gratitude I have for time. For time to elapse so I can view things in a different light, from a different vantage point. Does time heal wounds? I can’t really say that. One can not undo damage. But what time has done for me is to make me see how things were put in place for me to grow. For me to become more human, and see that humanity in everyone. ~•~ a beautiful milieu Image Eve Arnold