Metamorphosing into a mother

Metamorphosing from child to adult has been excruciating.  The stench from the rotting cocoon fills my nose and reminds me of my journey to this place.  The place where healing finally begins and the past can finally be burned into ashes.  Even the ashes must be set free into the wild ocean, for the tame ground of my soul is too tender for its teeth.  The scars are still healing and sometimes they burst open revealing the puss that must be extricated and thrown into the acid of no return.

This is just the beginning.  This is just the beginning of washing the stain of my pain.  The stain that tried to tattoo itself to my heart and body.  It won't be a short journey.  It's already lasted 39 years.  Many things have changed during that time, but the pain is always the same.  It started with my reluctant birth into a world where I was not wanted.  Into a world, where my presence burdened two broken beings together.

The healing began when I birthed another being.  One I had not expected.  One I didn't know I could mother into human form.  Then a lightening stroke broke open a wound in his brain and my mothering instincts pressed the pedal to the metal and a mother was born.  She is fierce.  She is capable.  She is trying to transform my broken form into the woman I need to be.  The kind of woman that becomes the mother of a strong man, without a man.

At the climax of all that could go wrong, a gift was given.  A gift I could not refuse, even when I thought it would be best.  I found my passion in loving a little form that clarifies my understanding of unconditional love.  I found that after all, I was meant to be a mother.  After all, I was meant to be his mother.

2 months old

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