You changed my diapers, brought me to my doctors appointments, guided me through school, and made sure to see that I was clothed and fed through the entirety of my life. You taught me proper morals, to treat people the way I would like to be treated; how punctuality is key, and you should always give a proper two weeks to an employer upon leaving, along with how to respect my elders, and to--well you get the point.
But, while I was attending the third grade in my small town, you taught me something different.
You taught me that it was and still is okay, to not be okay. I found myself flooded with emotions that I had never felt in my young life. Suffocating feelings of that familiar "lump before tears" began to lament at the top of my throat. The waterworks came and left, and the pressure from the project passed-due, that it all stemmed from, seemingly dissipated.
I realized something about myself in that moment and she did too. I was battling with a dark night on my shoulder who chained cast iron weights around my ankles and began to drag me somewhere deep into myself.
An extroverted, free form, young Woodstock baby turned to an introverted, moody, goblin. You held my hand in my darkest moments. Through my schooling, through my jobs, and personal works, I always found you as my kick back. The magical net that would catch me and absorb my pain, transforming it to your own to bore a better me by the end. You found hope in my sorrow, light in my dreams. Even when I found myself incapable of performing basic tasks, eating or keeping my room tidy, I was given a nudge. A gentle reminder to help me validate my very prevalent emotions, but to urge me to persist forward and to hold your hand if I felt or feared I could not.
You were the parent who stayed, and transformed into my primary caregiver. And after these formative years, I am crowning! Entering a 2.0 version of my life, pulling of my prior skin with urgency. And while some scales still glimmer of my past-self, there is one thing I will still hold onto without fail, even if some shreds remain, and that's your hand.
