Never

Desiree

Never

Desiree
microphone-528784_640Back when she was still herself -- a tart, sometimes cringe-inducing, outspoken woman -- one of my Mom's favorite phrases was "get over it!" Which never failed to simply strike me dumb on the instant.

No matter what the situation, what the circumstances, the provocation, the injustice, if I o(r, really anyone) dwelled (in her view) too long on some person or event found to be just too much to cope with, well, when she lost patience (it didn't take long) that was her response. Get over it.

And I'm fairly certain that if she was here now, and still herself -- in her right mind -- that is precisely what she would tell me.  But I just can't.

Too damn much has happened in the last couple of months. Too much that I can't unsee, too much I can't unhear, way too much that I simply cannot handle. And strangely enough, I don't want to. I don't want to be okay with it. I just can't.

My mother raised me (back when I was young) to be the sort of woman who did not knuckle under or take crap off of anyone. Some of my earliest memories are of taking part in protest marches, and voter registration drives. Of fascinating, if loud, discussions about women's rights, minority rights. And how life and our world could change for the better. Yeah, she was a hell-raiser, my mom. Once upon a time.

But somehow, something changed within her. And her constant reminders when I was young, to speak up, to speak out, to not let myself be talked over or shouted down, somehow morphed into "get over it!"

But early lessons die hard, don't they? And, sorry, Mom, but I will never, ever, "get over it."

Not while I have breath in my body. I will never, ever be okay with the things I have seen, heard, and experienced. Because I am still the woman you raised me to be.

For which I thank you.