I look into the mirror, while fixing my small afro, and catch a glimpse of my mother. I see her in the mirror, looking back at me, age 24, as she is fixing her 'fro, in the 1980s. Perhaps she is getting ready to head out to have fun at the disco. Maybe she is preparing to head out into the heat of the Honduran sun.
As much as I'd love to talk to her and go back to the days where I was a child...I have accepted the fact that she will never love me the way that I need her to: unconditionally. She and I will never have the relationship that I wish for so desperately: one of genuine and pure love. It's tainted. It's not her fault. It's no one's fault really. My maternal line, for the most part, didn't know any better.
I'm not mad, but I choose to make my own way now.
So goodbye, Mama.