graceland's Diaryland Diary

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For the mothers

Someone I used to know wrote this in a mad frenzy this weekend and it seems to be making the rounds around the internet.

*~*

I saw "In America" tonight. I identified with just about every character in the film with the exception of Samantha Morton. I empathized with Mateo, feeling everything vicariously, ferociously feeling it and not being able to live it. Sometimes I feel so much that I think I may just explode from feeling.

And the father, having felt so deeply that he just couldn't feel anymore. Working to emote, knowing that emotion was inside but not being able to channel it. Continuing to act for the sake of keeping things together.

Like the oldest daughter, figuring things out on my own, through observation; recording each detail and then studying meticulously for a clue, just a one clue to help me better understand how something - everything - went so disasterously wrong.

And the youngest girl, at times exhuberantly oblivious, filled with childlike wonder until the night when everything that has happened to me wakes me up in a chilling sweat and I suddenly realize that everyone I thought I knew is not really who I thought at all, they are just shells of the people I loved. Terrified with this realization.

The one I didn't relate to, was the mother. Her strength was beyond me, her ability to believe so strongly in other people, her faith in her own will, her capacity give so much that she nearly gave her sanity in exchange. I have never given that much. It scares me to think that I might never have that much to give. That I may never have the strength and the conviction to do that much in life.

That's some active participation in life.

In my opinion, being a mother is the greatest thing a woman can do in life. Those women are warriors. I can only hope to achieve half as much, to give a fraction of what they give, in my lifetime.

10:37 p.m. - 2004-03-08

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