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.
“If I told anyone, it wouldn’t be you, Mom.”
And so all the more my heart is wrenched,
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.