Thursday, February 3, 2011

made it, ma. top of the world.

i never called my mother "ma." my dad will occasionally call my grandmother that when he's annoyed with her, but it was never my style. i called her "mom." short, sweet, to the point. there are a lot of things i want these days, first and foremost a job. but today, three years to the day after getting that call, all i really want? well, it's her.

i've been told that she wanted to be a lawyer when she grew up. she worked for lawyers when i was a kid, and she was a damn fine paralegal. but she always wanted to be the one arguing the cases. when i was a little kid, all curled up in her office with the code of alabama as a toy, i told her i was going to grow up to be a lawyer, and she would encourage the hell out of me. when i argued my "cases" in my high-school mock trial programs, she'd challenge me, help me refine my points and sharpen my analyses. i was good. and i was good because she made me good.

but the bitch of it is, she never got to see it happen for real. i was halfway through 1L year when i got that call. i hadn't talked to her in forever. i can't even remember if she knew i was in law school or not. i think so. but that's the way these things work when reality, complication, etc. set in. the night before my divorce was finalized, i lay in the arms of my man, a boy she always loved when we were kids, and cried like my heart was broken (because it felt like it was). i wept for the loss of my marriage, even though it was what i wanted. my heart broke for the mistakes i made, the sorrow i caused us both, all of that. and when i was able to choke out a sentence, what did i say? "i want my mom." because i did. who else do you turn to when your walls are crumbling, when you're hurt, sad and confused? wounded babies cry for mama. apparently, so do wounded women.

today i wore black, i played our old song. i looked at myself in the mirror and noticed all the ways i've grown to resemble her. with my hair red, it's uncanny. i celebrated the legacy of the woman who made me who i am. it just sucks beyond belief that i reached her goal, attained her dream, and she didn't make it to see. all i can do is make damn sure i live up to the standards she set. no time to rest on my laurels now.


  1. Well said, Ms Magnolia... Your Mom would be so proud of you. I am biased, but I think Moms are the greatest thing in the world.



  2. Mothers... mothers are special. I know the problems my mental illness have caused in my life for me, and for my family and loved ones. I can't imagine what would happen if my mother had the issues I had / have.

    *hugs* and love.

  3. Wow, beautiful. I am so sorry your mom wasn't there to see what you've become, but she is watching, and she is proud. You are an inspiration.

  4. Honey, there aren't words. It sucks. That whole, "they missed it" feeling. Somehow, though, I think she knows, and she's proud. Look in the mirror, sweetie--she's not completely gone. Love you so much!!!

  5. What an amazingly sweet and powerful post. I'm confident that she'd be immensely proud of the woman you've become.

  6. Just beautiful. She would be proud.

  7. I'm proud of you, too.

    And when I'm sad I want my mamma and I don't care who knows it!


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