Where Time Softens Edges

There’s something about the way time softens edges.

When she was younger, she was a loud storm.

Strong opinions, sharp words, decisions that didn’t always make sense to the child standing beneath her. I learned to defend myself, to brace myself, to bend, to push back and create my own way of being far from the places I didn’t want her to fit. And somewhere in all of that… distance grew. Not always loud. Not always obvious. But there.

Then time did what it always does.

It kept moving.

The hands that should’ve supported me —now reach for support. The voice that carried authority carries anxiety and grief instead. And the roles begin to blur in a quiet, almost sacred way.

Because here’s the truth no one prepares you for:

You don’t take care of your parents because they got everything right.

You take care of them because they were part of your beginning.

Because love isn’t always neat. It doesn’t require agreement or a perfect past. Our past is now history. Sometimes love is simply showing up—again and again—even when the history between you is complicated.

Taking care of her now isn’t about rewriting what was.

It’s about honoring what is.

It’s choosing grace over resentment.

Presence over distance.

Compassion over memory.

And maybe, in these slower moments—between doctor visits, car rides, and quiet afternoons—you’ll find something unexpected:

Not the mother you struggled with.

Not the child you used to be.

But, like us …. two women, meeting each other where they are,

doing the best they can with the time we have left. 🤍

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