Today I read the poem "Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden (yeah we share a surname, but no relation. I wish!) and it made me think of a piece I drafted last week, an essay about my mother. Part of it is angry and part of it is understanding. The older I get, the more I understand her as a woman, as a wife and mother, as a human being trying to navigate her life. There is some bitterness in me still, which I did not recognize until fairly recently and that I need to release. But even as I identify the anger I also have greater compassion, understanding and gratitude for the woman she is and was.
Anyway, Hayden's poem today reminded me of what I started writing about my mom: