Wisdom from my mother

Don't think, just do, is what she said to me as she slit the throats of our little pet rabbits with a pocket knife she'd pulled from the back of her nightstand, a special gift never specially given because it was never the right time until now. You're in a state, she'd said when she saw me sitting in the waiting room, let's get you home. And it was almost lunchtime, but first it was time for me to grow up, and now it was the two of us standing, bonding, mother and child—mother and man—guiding my hand round the joints of my childhood, carving the flesh from the fading memories. Rabbit reminds me of the beauty of the past, she said, as I smiled, horrified, at how we'd bonded in the purest way, watching the blood stain the tiles and the fur. <br/>

assume good intentions, is what she said to me as she walked me back to the house while i cried, red eyed and black eyed and green kneed and blood cheeked. which of the bunnies do you love the most? i love my children equally i replied and she laughed to hear her hollow words in me, her one and only. maybe i regret being so democratic now, regret leaving school just because of them, regret not saying no or showing no, and then she was telling me that some people show their love in mysterious ways. some people show their love with absence, and she looked away, because maybe he was still there, somewhere; and at home we stroked those rabbits for the last time. there is a strength in taking the love straight from the source she told me. as the love leaked across the table and onto the tiles. let me show you how best to season it. she demonstrated in silence, staring at his absence, the source of a love i do not remember. <br/>

stay away from love is what she said to me as i described how he had come up to me during break to tell me not to tell his girlfriend that she didn't have to be with him how she had watched him kicking my inoffensively defensive frail floored form she had watched and done nothing and i described and she listened and she shared she said young love is the most passionate and she wasn't thinking of him but her own him yes her own him who she was helpless for like i was helpless and the girl was helpless and the rabbits were helpless and we were chewing to fill the silence we sat and stared me at her but her at him or at least at where he wasn't anymore he was gone now and love is a whore she said and maybe she wasn't saying it to me maybe she'd moved on and into the past and past anything i could recall or understand she was exploring the inside of her head and occasionally bringing back a curiosity to share with me bringing back something special something poignant something that made her her and so in some funny roundabout way made her make me me and made me make me who i am and i think that's the thing about her that i loved the most