Confessions of a Daughterless Mother

I was four. Maybe five? Small enough I fit on my Great Aunt Dorothy's lap like a bluebird in her nest. My grandma was driving. Her blonde bee hive hair whispering across the white roof or her ruby red Grenada, the prettiest car I had ever seen. I don't remember where I was traveling or what the circumstances were -- only that I missed my Momma and I wanted to go home. I had a penchant for big emotions and I was crying. Really, really crying. All three of us sitting in the front seat they sang and Aunt Dorothy rocked me back and forth. My little body quaking with sobs my little hands held hers as I slowly fought my body to melt into hers. I remember the ache in my soul of being separated from her, of wanting the comfort and safety that only mommas can give. "Look do you see the white horse, Lara?" Aunt Dorothy asked. Sneaky. I loved horses. My Gram slowed down and out the window stood a beautiful, snow white mare (let's be re