My Mother Loved Me

My mother loved me...in the way that she had to because she made me. I don't know when she stopped liking me. Maybe it was when I started to question things and think for myself. Maybe it was when she realized I would forge my own path as she taught me. It's funny how she gave me these tools, taught me not to blindly follow the crowd, but when I chose a path of my own she became bitter. Was it resentment? Had she not lived out her dreams and secretly thinking that I would do the same. Suppress the passions in my heart and take the road most traveled. The safe route as she had. Maybe she hoped I would push away thoughts of doing what gave me true joy, teach my children the same tools and watch as they do as others have with secret glee. Knowing that it was not her fault, not my fault, it's just what we all do. We sacrifice what is ours alone to have the American dream. Leaving our own dreams behind. Maybe it was a quiet, subconscious resentment that brought her to terms with her decisions to make me go. Maybe it was the only way she wouldn't feel regret for leaving her heart in another place while she trodded down the road of those before her. It was too late to admit she had made a mistake and wish she'd done it differently as I had. The pain that would have caused her to face her past and the life that could have been. So...she kicked me out. Pushed me away. Told me I was wrong and hoped I'd return. But that was not for me. For me, I bore the pain of rejection, ostracization, cold nights, and uncertainty so I could have what she did not and show my children it's not wrong to choose the path that soothes your soul first and your American dream last.