I notice more everyday that I act like you. That my habits are just like yours. That for years I ran around anywhere and everywhere trying to escape the fact that I would turn out just like you. All of the destruction I have caused to myself for years is strongly correlated to the ways in which you raised me. I think that the biggest reason why you get so worried about me is because you know this about me.
I am you and you are a ball of misery. 44 years of miserable times, 4 children later, 1 unaffectionate husband afterwards here you are, going to church burying your face in your praying hands as if it could help to scream at God. Mom, years ago, a long time ago when you were around my age you had a hope that things could get better.
The changes that would come between Mexico and California would change the world maybe... maybe it would change the teary times to good times and beautiful times. And they can be sometimes. All of your girls are growing up hiding in their rooms from you, trying not to be like you but you are everything, you are everywhere. No matter where I turn to escape you I find your face behind every one of my actions.
I love you like crazy. I'm your daughter and you gave up so much to keep me safe. But you didn't realize that I was only in danger of you. I just wanted to tell you happy birthday and I'm never going back home.
Love,
Rosy
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