Not Good Enough Mothers (Closing Monologue)
I’ve lived in a world full of not good enough mothers. Imperfect, bad mothers.
But the mother is a child too. She’s a child.
I will stop waiting for you to be the perfect mother. I will be patient with you. I will be tender. I will be the mother I wanted you to be.
My first love. My husband. My heartbreak. My pain. Feels so easy now. Here, you’re not the cheat and the liar. I’m not the nag and the shrew. We’re not old or young. There’s no bitterness or illusions. No need for fear or hope. We’re just spirits drifting through this perfect Earth together.
We can be free of our sad stories. They float away, ‘til they’re like memories of a dream from the night before. Shadows under the water. And what’s left is pure life. Life is the gift.
The Weekend (Closing Monologue)
You can try to escape the story of your life. But you can’t. It happened.
The baby died. The dog died. The heart broke.
I knew you when you were young. I know your heart broke too. I will know you when we are both old, and maybe wise. I hope wise. I know you now, your story. Mine isn’t the one I would’ve chosen in the beginning. But I’ll take it.
It is my story. it’s only mine. And it’s not over. There’s time. There is time. There’s so much time.
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