I waver. My hand hovering over a piece of paper. What am I going to write? I am supposed to write an epitaph for my recently deceased mother and I don’t know what to write. If they only knew, wouldn’t that be a laugh? Such prominent family, such good people, crystal clear. And here I am not knowing how to convey this “crystal clear” person that passed away.
Should I write that she hated me and the feeling was mutual? Should I write how everything I did was criticized? How my choices and achievements were diminished and dismissed as unimportant? Should I tell about the constant cold and refection I felt from my own parent? How many nights have I wept into my pillow wondering what I do wrong and how can I fix it.
When the time came I finally realized that no matter what I do, my relations with mother cannot be mended. That we will never be a mother and daughter you read about in a book, that family which warms your heart and makes you say “awww”. Not us, never.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. I firmly grasp the pen and start writing.
“Beloved wife, caring mother and lovely daughter. You will be sorely missed. May angels lead you into Paradise. May you find peace.”
I put down the pen and let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding in. I close my eyes and let the tears blur all the words.