Mom gifted me a necklace ... but, really, so much more
I am the oldest child and the only daughter of my parents. Growing up, my mom and I were close. Fact is, we still are. She was the secret keeper as I was the first child to test the waters as I grew up and grew bold from a child to an adult. “Don’t tell your dad,” she’d tell me, often accompanied by a shake of her head, a roll of her eyes and a barely concealed grin as I entertained her with my latest escapades. My mom was — and still is — my confidante. But as she kept my secrets, I, too, kept hers. My parents' marriage was a muddle of emotions. Love was there but it was often buried when my dad flew into a rage. In today's world, a diagnosis of a mental health issue would be given. Why else would someone be fun, kind and loving in one moment and, without warning, spew anger and hatred the next? And then, just as quickly, pivot back to love as the tempest of the anger subsided? My dad never wounded with fists but his words cut sharp and deep. My mom was usually the intend
