This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone...a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty.
This was something she would ...
Quotes from the same author
My mother... she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.
The best place to cry is on a mother's arms.
I think this is every mother's worst nightmare - something dreadful happening to her child.
That's the strange thing about being a mother: until you have a baby, you don't even realize how much you were missing one
Maybe you had to leave in order to really miss a place; maybe you had to travel to figure out how beloved your starting point was... ...Parents aren't the people you come from. They're the people you want to be, when you grow up. I sat between my mother and my father, watching strangers on TV carry in Shaker rockers and dusty paintings and ancient beer tankards and cranberry glass dishes; people and their hidden treasures, who had to be told by experts that they'd taken something incredibly precious for granted.