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My mother, are you at peace?

I remember so clearly the early days. I remember your strength and I remember your faith. Your inspired awe as you looked upon the barricade I built as he would continue to lash.

My appreciation slowly dwindled as the years went on. I remember our last day, the day at the circus. Who knew my life would become as contorted as the bodies of the contortionists?

My mother, why did you go?

I was with the family, never together, never apart. I sat and waited. I never understood how before they told me; I knew. It was as if the Theotokos herself had come to me and said "It has begun". When they told me I did not understand that I had made a vow.

My mother, were you aware?

With her absance, the contortion had begun. His wicked words no longer besieging you but now encumbering me. The punching fists spinning me across the room. And phobic slurs slitting my throat. I had often asked myself if you had known. I know now you were always aware.

My mother, were you proud?

My madness slowly sank in. As words began to betray me, as did the world. Something kept me alive, a passion burning within me. It was not my own. It could not have been for I died long before you. However I was raised from the dead. I was a conqueror of your will. I bested what I thought I could not. And loved who I knew who could not reciprocate.

My mother, I feel you now.

I feel you now, brought to me together we stand, a triune force of femeninity and mercy.