A mothers’ heart breaks a thousand times in a lifetime, and for this pain, there is no pill.
A mother cries when her children are born, and when they no longer need her.
She cries as they detach from her own body and emerge into this world, crying for herself and crying for her unborn child.
She cries the first time her children look into her eye, seeking to know her.
She cries when her children become ill, praying for their quick recovery.
She cries the day she sends her precious children to school, a challenging environment, unlike home.
She cries when her children bleed, and she cries when they are bullied.
She cries when she thinks she cannot do enough, and she cries when she does too much.
She cries as they seek their own independence, no longer needing her care. She prays for their safety, and she prays for their success.
And she prays for herself as she rebuilds her life without them.
Angela McMullen is a freelance writer who lives and writes in maritime Nova Scotia, where she is inspired by the rhythm of the Bay of Fundy tides, the pulse of long-standing forests, the expansive fields of the Annapolis Valley, the backdrop of North and South mountain ranges, and the distinction of the four seasons. www.forestwriting.com
Angela's most recent work is a slim book of poetry that captures the pure essence of nature and her unwavering resilience. Infused with undertones of Italian influence, this collection of poetry speaks for itself.