Category: Art

My father used to miss his mother, my mother misses her mother. Those who know it feel it, I didn’t then. Dad told me how he missed his mother and everything she meant to him and the things he would sacrifice and the worth of her approval and his respect for her. I didn’t then. I don’t know what would of made me really understand but the words weren’t enough to describe or come close to that feeling. I do now. My mother is here , my Gd! You can watch as I plead, beg, grovel, cry, scream to not loose to not loose please! I KNOW! please I don’t want to, while wells of water dripping, then running out my eyes…