“Why did you do this?” my mother asked.
I had told her about this blog. She knows that I’ve never been a very open person where my disability is cocerned, that I suffer in silence more often than not.
“I couldn’t tell you.” I said. “I felt complled to do it.”
“It made me cry.”
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” I said. I hated it when she cried, even if it was happy crying. It always made me feel sad. “That wasn’t my intent.”
“I know,” she said. “But it’s a proud kind of crying, you know what I mean?”
I think I did.