Southern Traditions

      Sharron sits alone, staring out the window, remembering, questioning, seething at the events unfolding a hundred miles away in her hometown, her birthplace.  Is everyone wondering where I am? Have they even missed me all these years? Or, are they like mother and just don't give a damn?  Abruptly, she stops rocking in her chair. The fingers on her hand are clenched and white knuckled. I hope the ground is cold, unfriendly, and unforgiving. It would be fitting.


      A soft, ragged sob escapes her lips. A burning question that will never be answered begs to be asked. How can the birth of an innocent child that had no say in being created, change a family? Split a family so much that a daughter can't go to her mother's  funeral? Not can't but won't. 

   
      Sharron loved her own daughter and the grandson she bore so much that she chose them over her mother, brothers, twin sister, cousins, grandmother, aunts, and uncles. All are lost to Sharron, even now, as her mother is being lowered to the ground.