A Bond Never to be Broken

Our Relationship: A Bond Never to be Broken

Glaring out my window, staring at the gloomy grey skies I study the rain striking the road.  I reach into my purse in the secret zipped compartment for a folded piece of paper. In my tiny hand lies the words I have grown to cherish. As I open this folded treasure, a tear begins to trickle down my flushed cheek and I am overcome with unhappiness. I miss my mother.

 Linda Pastan's "To a Daughter Leaving Home" is written on the aged torn paper. As I sit clutching my pink blanket that I brought from home, I can still smell the sweet smell of fabric softener my mother used to wash them.  I start thinking of the many miles between my mother and me. I chose to go away for college. I have this poem memorized, but I still choose to read it aloud as if the words were new to me. Memories of home begin to flood my mind. I remember waking up on Sunday mornings to the smell of my mother cooking pancakes, or every afternoon snuggled up in her bed watching all of our favorite shows. Then, the memories of my senior year begin to flash through my head. Everyday I would go to school and dream of one day getting out of Delaware to experience a new innovative and thrilling lifestyle. All I wanted to do was stroll across that stage, diploma in my hand and depart. I would leave this small state and never think to look back. Fear and uncertainty by no means crossed my mind. Neither did the thought of my relationship with my mother changing.

      “Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same.”  Relationships are comprised of fear, uncertainty, pride and so much more than that.  I will always be my mother’s little girl, but by going away to college on my own has developed a new sense of understanding in our relationship. Children eventually grow apart from their parents, wanting to expand their experiences by themselves, but this does not mean one should lose their relationships. This poem, folded in even amounts, also remains in a small pocket in my mother’s purse. I open up my cell phone and dial my mother’s number, ensuring her that the relationship we share will never be broken despite any distance between us.