I see you.
I can picture you clearly. In my mind, you’re in your early twenties, your shoulder-length, tousled auburn hair dancing in the breeze. You’re slim, donning a bikini, with your feet splashing in a small wading pool alongside a little redheaded toddler—me. The sun shines brightly above you, casting a golden glow as I look up at your smiling face, feeling the warmth of both you and the sun.
I see you seated in your room, tears streaming down your face. Now in your thirties, you’ve shed many pounds, yet the burdens you carry seem heavier. Your hair remains vibrant, showing no signs of graying. Beside you, teenage me shares in your sorrow, confused by the divorce that’s tearing us apart. My love for you is fierce, yet I can’t help but feel resentment. Why is this happening to us? Marriage shouldn’t be so difficult; he’s not that bad, is he?
Fast forward to your forties, and I see you entering the church. Your copper hair still shines, now laced with hints of white, and you wear a beautiful green dress—your best color. As we step inside, music fills the air, and we share a quiet laugh as someone rushes past us to find their seat. Taking my arm, you guide me down the aisle. I turn to my new husband, momentarily drifting away from you.
Now in your fifties, I see you anxiously waiting at the front door as I arrive home late. There’s more gray in your hair, and you carry a little extra weight around your waist. The air feels heavy with impending rain, and flashing blue lights cast alternating shadows across your worried face. I hand you my son, trying to reassure you while the officer stands at the end of the driveway with my husband. You want to support me, but I need you to protect my child. As I walk down the driveway, I realize—marriage is indeed a challenge.
In your sixties, I see you in a green dress once again, standing proudly in an entrance hall. The gray has fully claimed your hair, but you still look stunning. You gather my kids, holding their hands as you lead them down the aisle. This time, it’s my children who accompany me. You beam with pride as I take your hand, ready to embrace my new beginning. I turn to my husband, but not before taking a moment to acknowledge you.
I see a chubby redheaded toddler splashing in a wading pool, the sun warming the crown of his head. His smile is infectious, filling me with warmth. Now in my forties, my own hair is red and a bit unruly—familiar yet new. I wonder if he’ll remember this day. As I glance at my reflection in the window, I see you once more.
This article was originally published on Sep. 6, 2015.
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In summary, this piece reflects on the evolving relationship between a mother and her child through various life stages. It beautifully captures the growth, challenges, and the enduring bond that persists over time.