Violet Was Not a Flower

Violet was the incubator who brought my precious gift to me. I am ever thankful.

I met Violet just once.

It seems harsh to see her as a birthing machine rather than a beating heart or a living, breathing soul. However, Violet wrote the rules, and demanded compliance. Unquestioned compliance is what she was given.

Ours was a non-relationship.

She relinquished a valuable treasure, while disinterested in the rate of return on her investment. Did she invest anything?

I am thankful, yet stunned, by Violet’s nonchalance.

I am eternally grateful for the gift I received; mother and child, and the outcome; precious, unconditional love.

Violet was not a flower.

She was an incubator who gave birth to my mother.

Author: Jana Horton

I write to soothe my soul. I empty my words onto napkins, scraps of paper, receipts... anything really. When I was very young my mom told me to stop writing on my hand. I never did. I write on it to this day. I’ve lost so many scraps of Self on soggy napkins; I’ve yet to lose my hand. The words I scribble there may wash off, but since they are inscribed in my soul, once they are released, from heart to hand, I am allowed to let them go.

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