Disappearing Me

  My   family I wonder what they see when they glance our way — a family arranged just so, smiles smoothed to civility, no storms, no shouting, just that taut ‑ mouthed shimmer of distance only we can feel. Once, you were warm against my skin — born of me, fed by me, your small hands anchoring my whole world. Now I stand an occasional visitor in your lives, watching you offer your children the tenderness I once gave to you. Somewhere between your growing up and my stepping out into my own life, the thread slipped. And though I reach for it still, we move like polite half ‑ strangers, orbiting a love we can no longer name. So   I stand here — not accusing, not demanding — just holding the echo of what we were: soft ‑ edged memories of small bodies curled into mine, and the tears only I could quell, You grew, as children must, stretching beyond the borders of the life I built around you. And I grew too — into someone who...