There’s a subtle yet profound brutality in silence, especially when it comes from those you once considered family. I pen down these words not in search of sympathy or redemption, but to lay bare the naked truth of abandonment, apathy, and the art of using someone’s memory as a mere prop for one’s self-righteous narrative.My mother, was a woman carved out of resilience and grace, her wit sharp, and her strength unyielding.
She was a haven of love, a paradigm of perseverance, and in her, I found my identity. I am her legacy, her echo in the world.
She lives on in my laughter, in my stubborn streak of resilience, and in the unbreakable bond we shared. Yet, her passing left a void, a world less illuminated.Years unfolded, bringing with them a chasm of silence.Read more on thoughtcatalog.com