Let the heart speak its mind

Mothers are tough. Daughters tend to allow more generosity at forgiveness; they want the bond fixed and running smoothly. Daughters are the peacemakers of their lineage.


We are gifts and curses to those we come to and to those who come to us.

-I am here to work on my Love. She said.

-Does Love require work?

– I think I may.

– “Love doesn’t. It’s a port, a gateway and a get-away”, came the answer.

– “Let the heart speak its mind”.


Two women sat facing each other within a hand reach. Mother listened while daughter rushed to speak her mind out. Third generation woman, the grandmother, quietly held sacred space. Her hand was on the daughters shoulder. Shortly the hand felt heavy weight to both and slid slowly downwards. She heard just snippets of granddaughters’ conversation- youthful and vibrant; young girl wanted mother as a friend. She was pleading her pain out eventually.

A chain of generations sat weaving family heritage:

Grandmother who was already excused from being mattered in life and having her daughter’s back- a departing generation.

Mother, not yet retired yet resigned from her own life; dull, lost and helpless, sitting still and mute.

Young girl, the daughter, now facing all of her female roots backwards, unsupported. There was no one behind her, unless she was embraced in love. She wanted her back supported too, to lean on trust and care. She wanted mother as a friend and confidante. She wanted to be wanted, to belong.

Grandmother sat helpless while young girl plead with the mother. The elder understood it well: she walked the same path of women in the world, she birthed one, raised both of them, she pled, swallowed own unreciprocated pain, excused herself and heard the same complaints from her daughter. Even if she wished to, she couldn’t change a thing.

Old woman breathed in heavy exhales. Each breath tasseled the hair on the neck of her daughter, each whim of wind, small tickle on her shoulder- a whisper of an Angel. Oh, how she wanted her now-adult daughter hear the young woman. Hear, understand and receive the pain that daughter was too young to muster the burden of. Grand daughter was innocent, hungry for love and so naïve. The girl took life on her slender shoulders to manage it on little wisdom yet on a battery of potency. She spoke excitedly to her mother, she shared her joy, tried to inspire mom to see life anew- her vivid way. She wanted to have a friend for the journey through life.

And three of them wept, each of her own disconnect and pain.

Grandmother heard the mother say “I love making mistakes” and rejoiced at her kin laughing out loud at last. Ice shifted, hardened hearts were touched- it was a glimpse at light, connection, space to meet, embrace, forgiveness.

Mothers are tough, the senior recognized. Daughters tend to allow more generosity at forgiveness; they want the bond fixed and running smoothly. They are the peacemakers of their lineage.

Daughters are the remedy of hope.


“The grandmother holds the seeds of our grandchildren, so we are a seed within a seed within a seed. We truly are gatekeepers, we stand at the gateway of life and death.” (Jo Crow)


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