It's easy to express my love when it's swimming down a peaceful stream, or drowning in a violent sea. It's easy to express my love to my child, because it's like the palm of my hand--just right there.
But when I think of my mother, the tears come on cue, but the words don't flow.
Even when I'm in her presence, I protect my own heart from what it feels for her. It's as if I open the door, I'll be left stranded in emotion with no way to express or describe it.
The love I have for my mother is love itself, and even if I could wrap it in ten thousand poetic words, it wouldn't be enough. The love I have for my mother lives in the baby I was, in a five-year-old girl, in who I am now, and in the old woman I will one day be.