This is written from the perspective of a friend who opened up to me about the story of her mom. But this isn’t just the story of her mom. Thousands and thousands of women in Afghanistan and around the world tolerate hardship and violence as their written fate because of their children.
My dearest mother,
I am sorry for not stopping him,
When he rushed toward you with his fist clenched
To clout you on the face.
He looked powerful.
But the real power was in you,
When you got back up,
Made us dinner and told us you were fine.
My dearest mother,
I am sorry for not standing up for you,
When he was calling you names,
To try to degrade you in front of your own children.
His words were mean and hurtful.
But, you always proved him wrong.
You taught us how to care,
How to love, how to feel.
My dearest mother,
I am sorry for choosing silence,
When he would isolate you,
And not let you seek support.
That’s how cowards dominate.
You remained strong.
You lived for us.
You clinged onto your last beacon of hope: your children.
My dearest mom,
I am sorry for everything.
I cannot wash away your past and take away your pain.
I promise you one thing, though.
I will not let a man control my life.
I will not give up my happiness for him.
I will not forget I am your daughter:
A woman of strength, grace, and courage.