Trauma is deceptive and very powerful.
Not properly grieving what my mother has lost, had taken away from her, and forfeited by her own choices, not to mention the parts of herself that have been severed from her by those minutes of her life that hold the weight of a year.
Momma is the strongest being I know, “But God,” yet, she’s so fragile, her life is fight.
However, when the war slows or gets too quiet Momma seems to crawl into herself and disappear.
Depression, I didn’t know it when I was younger.
I didn’t understand that Momma withdrew into her wounds and became trapped there sometimes.

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Depression paralyzed the “O.G.”
Watching her wrestle with mental and emotional stability forced me to recognize the imbalances that reside in myself.
Maybe Momma’s internal fight is exhausting and her states of isolation and stillness are a result?
What happens to me when exhaustion, confusion and fear overtakes my ability of motion?
How will I respond to not feeling good enough or powerless?
When will I have to confront this part of myself I’ve never met, but have such an intimate knowledge of through Momma?
(or)
Maybe I can continue to tell myself that what I know dwells in me isn’t real.
The fear of confronting truth exists because what may be revealed by this confrontation is unknown.
I am my mother’s son.