A tough cookie

A Tough Cookie On the surface of life, my mother was a tough cookie of three children she lost two when they were fairly young. Tearless she attended their funeral and people thought she should have cried more. I heard her tears the pain from her heart that could not be stopped, an ache so painful that no pills could stop it. One night I went into her bedroom in the hope of stilling her grief, she had a pillow over the face to stifle her yammer. told me to leave the grief was hers alone. My mother kept her sorrow for herself she was unable share her grief with anyone least of all me who for reason I shall not understand she kept me at a distance and I had to watch as she sunk into the mess of alcoholism, this was her answer to a world not of her creation. A contrarian few came to her funeral, those who did has been blessed with the good fortune of understanding that life has many expressions and you are free to have your own.