I am again lost, here. What in the world should I be offended by? Nothing at all. I am searching my mind about my responses, that indicated I was in any way hurt.
Any hurt, is buried inside me in this ridiculous conversation I am having with my dead mother.
Cedar, my mother, had I followed her orders, wanted her ashes to be put in the garbage. D H and M are right. Those ashes need to be on their way.
Because as long as I do not put her to rest, I am in the garbage. As if I am acting out, to appease my mother's memory, what would have been her punishment to me.
Let's call them as I see them. I was a beautiful and brilliant, talented and sensitive child. My mother, for whatever reason, did her best to use me and destroy anything in me that could have permitted me to soar.
Looking back at her life, she knew it.
I would tell D H the truth about your life, Cedar.
You believe still, that the beauty and wonder in you is what is clean and perfectly formed. That which is artfully and purposefully crafted and arranged. This is not true. That is a mere reflection.
You can only be seen, Cedar, truthfully and fully, as you have risen in strength from defeat and degradation. That is the true you, Cedar. Think about my words.
