A Mother's Love

My mother's face stares back at mine, identical eyes sagging under the weight of their reflection. The screaming, slamming through the walls of the modern suburban home. The door shakes, hinges shouting back as they are pounded by fists. My mind is blank, all of me completely consumed by the noise. It hurts.
An eternity passes. The screaming does not stop. I throw the bathroom door open, feel my legs engulfed by hands that barely reach past my knees. They squeeze, the tiniest nails digging into my skin. The screaming still hasn't stopped. Hauling the small body towards the couch, I sit it on my lap, hands immediately reaching around my neck. Shrieking, blubbering in my ear, tears soaking my shirt. We are both gasping for air. Garbled words make their way out of it's mouth in between the ear piercing sounds. Something about a toy. It wanted a toy and I took it away. It doesn't understand why I won't give it back. I don't remember why I took it away but spite fuels my need to not give it back.
The screaming does not stop. It does not stop and suddenly I understand, I understand myself and my mother and nature's unstoppable will to create an endless cycle of the women who think that they want to nurture, who think that they are capable of taking care of anyone other than themselves and then they can't. I understand mothers who think they can do better than the ones that came before them. I am flooded with the memory of my own small arms, wrapped around my own mother's neck, receiving nothing in return, no emotion, only a slight distaste and reminders of what life could have been had I never existed. What a lesson for a child to learn.
I burst into tears, my mother's eyes pouring rivers down my cheek and into flushing my cheeks pink with all the love I always needed but never received. The screaming stops, the last cry echoing across the white walls.
It is quiet.
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