I’m being told that change can’t come without grief.
Change was my middle name when I was a child…
Pretty sure both of my parents would understand me writing about change as I work on a memoir (of sorts).
Or not: My parents were teens when they married and became parents. Instant-adults. Sans prep from their elders, stubbornness became their motto.
‘You’ve always known more than me,’ my mother said to her 4 grown girls. ‘I rely on you for advice,’ she said. She didn’t mean it. I wish she had.
Because I would have asked her to not only listen to her family, but act on our advice.
Truthfully: I begged her to consider suggestions/pleas/proposals. pleasepleaseplease
Truthfully: screw the grief, change can’t come without reckonings. Nope. Not possible.
Truthfully? Shedidthebestshecould (I mutter when driving alone)