Kathleen Dumont | A Daughter’s Wish

I wish my Mother could have warned me about being her daughter. She could have told

me I’d grow up someday to be just like her. She might have drawn me aside as a child

and said,

“Katalina, my favorite daughter, don’t be afraid to try new things. Just throw caution to

the wind and soar.”

I wish my Mother could have stood in all her beauty and said,

“Honor your body, sweet child. We are never satisfied with what we have. Be satisfied.

Be proud.”

I wish my Mother, when I was first in love, could have taken me for coffee and told me

how, before I died, I’d love deeper and longer than every time before.

I wish my Mother could have been honest about her needs, not defended nor denied, but

said instead,

“Katalina, my girl, do not be ashamed to want things. Hold out until you are happy. You

deserve to be happy!”

My Mother should have told me that tears aren’t promises, and sorrys aren’t solutions,

and forevers have a way of falling down mid-flight.

I wish my Mother could have spoken to me more, and sung to me more, and nagged me

more, before I suddenly realized our roles would reverse.

She should have warned me that someday I would see her face in the mirror. She should

have convinced me of the delight in finding we have the same hands.

I wish my Mother could have embraced herself with all the energy of her love, and with

the sweet cool touch of her forgiveness. She should have taken her own advice.

I wish my Mother could’ve had the chance to spend the day doing all the things she

meant to do, going all the places she meant to go. She should’ve eaten all the junk food

she wanted to eat. She should have danced.

Maybe she still will.

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