You carry pain quietly

You carry pain quietly.
Even when you were small you would be more angry than hurt.
Once I asked your teenaged self what inward pain was digging
Into your heart so hard.
You said
“If I told anyone, it wouldn’t be you, Mom.”

And so all the more my heart is wrenched,
Wrung,
Watching you wrestling pain now.

It’s still true:
I would gladly take your place to save you.
But it wouldn’t save you.

Some pain must be carried quietly.

Mothering is terrible joy.

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