The letters written here follow 11 years after my mother's death. Although a silent peace and forgiveness was reached just days before she died, I still have scars and emotions to deal with from my childhood. As a child, I wasn't allowed to speak to the pain of the abuses -- the pain and hurt, grief, degradation, lack of affirmation, the belief I wasn't worth anything. Had I spoken out, the wrath would have been multiplied. Layer upon layer the scars still run deep. As I write these letters, I hope to find a place of healing.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” ~~ Maya Angelou

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Once Mama understood I wasn't going to take her guff any longer, she began to calm down and life became bearable once again. But we never knew how long bearable would last. She could fire off
faster than a rocket on the 4th of July if you weren't watchful and got in her way. She was a dynamo and dynamite all in one.

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