Sissy in a Southern way
to this day, I miss.
I protested once:
Mommy, please don't call me that -
I spat - I hate it!
In her eyes I saw
She took my words literally
to heart - like a knife.
No salve could I find.
The wound - too deep - persisted
Still pained when she tried.
My mama called me
Sissy in a lovely way
I'll forever miss.
But if there were one moment in my life I could change, it would be this one. The careless, harsh words of my angsty teenage self could be apologized for. They could be forgiven, but they could never be forgotten.
Perhaps, given another 15 years to work on her, Mom might have been able to call me "Sissy" again without it catching in her throat, half-spoken.
Instead, over a decade after her death, I console myself with my own voice as I call my own daughter "Sissy" nearly every day.
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| This is Day 11 of the National Blog Posting Month challenge. |
I think, every daughter has one such moment with her mother which needs an apology. We don't know their feelings until we are in their shoes. I have some regrets too.
ReplyDeleteAhh the harsh words of a teenager. So many escaped my own lips. I should apologize. Thanks for the reminder.
ReplyDeleteAh! You were once a teenager so don't beat yourself on that but I find it very sweet that you call your daughter the same. It shows your love. :)
ReplyDelete