Old Journal Entry: Mom

I found this in an old journal, and I wanted to capture it here:

Dear Diary,

My father says I need a mother, when my hair is out of place. It doesn’t matter that I’m eighteen.

On the plane this past Christmas he watched a minute of this Turkish movie with me, where a granddaughter described how her grandmother folded jasmine into her clothing. The granddaughter says the scent is nostalgic.

Dad said he knew Mom wasn’t a mother when he saw a little girl beg her mother to French braid her hair at a cocktail party.┬áBut my mother curled my hair with her fingers before bed. At least until the third grade.

And I remember when this ended. It began as an ache in my stomach and I was out sick that week and I made myself pizza while my Mom worked. When the bleeding started I knew what it was but I asked for help anyways (it did not come).

When I was sick the next week I went to the nurse, to stare out the window and be sent home.

House was empty.

Just some blood.

And I am teaching myself motherhood.

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