i could never help her, no matter where i am. i could have stayed inside forever, but that wouldn’t have made a difference. things had already settled in there, long before i did. it was always finished, never had a chance. i wishwishwish, swishswishswish, but every single thing i ever did, said, thought–none of it changed anything, for better or worse. just years of ineffective pitter-pattering, moving up to muttering, eventually just puttering. i admire the stasis, now that i can see it from a safe distance. maybe things were actually more stable than i thought–after all, nothing much ever really changed.
i wonder now if she thinks about me, what she thinks, how she pictures it, how she pictured it… so many things i’ll never, ever know about her. i guess it is like that with everyone, though. i wish my children would have a grandmother like i did, but i know she can’t be that. i wouldn’t want to trouble her to play as if, i want her to be better. i want her to be happy. i can’t do that, and no part of me ever could. whatever she needs, i don’t have, and i never will. i don’t think anyone does. i try to think, over and over and over again, for all of my life, how she looked me. i try to imagine what it must be like for her…she had so many pictures of me all over the place, but we never spoke. hoarding the physical presence of me as her child, but having to realize the mind and the heart was long gone. does she though? i guess i really can’t know for sure.
i’ve never been able to picture her getting older. i can’t see her as anything other than the beautiful young mother who loved me, strong and short, and then left my world. maybe that’s for the best. maybe i should stop thinking about it entirely. why think about something you just couldn’t help?
