Dear Mama,
I’m sure it never occurred to you.  Never saw the hurt or anguish in my eyes as I sat in the room with you.  Sunday after Sunday as you taught their little class.

Yes, I watched closely even though I too was only a child at the time.  At about age 11 or 12, you asked me to be your helper.  I saw how you treated them.  Differently.  So differently than you treated me.

Did You Love Them Better?And all the time I was wondering if you loved them better.  Loved them better than me.

Was it that you didn’t expect the same things from them?  Or was it because you only had them on Sundays?  Or did they strike a different chord in your heart?

So baffling even now as I think back to that time. Somewhere long ago there were some photos of some of your classes, but searching has revealed nothing.  The image here is a reminder of your facial expression while teaching.

Patient, kind, even loving.

And then we went home, and She was gone.  She was the teacher that morning.  She was their companion, friendly and kind.  Where did She go afterwards?

It has puzzled me all these years, but no longer.  You see it’s just possible that there was something I didn’t know and maybe still don’t about why.

Maybe I’ll find the answer as I write more but for now, you just need to know how deeply those Sundays hurt me.  I wanted you the teacher persona to be my mama.

Continuing to find you, with love,