Sometimes it is the only way to save your own life.
I took a warm sip from my yellow mug as rain continued tapping softly against the window.
In another life, at that exact hour, I would have been bent over an ironing board pressing Clinton’s dress shirts, cooking dinner for ungrateful people, and wondering whether I had enough money to buy my blood pressure medication.
In this life, nobody was shouting demands from across the hallway.
No chore lists were taped to the refrigerator.
No unexpected charges were draining my bank account.
It was simply me.
My hot chamomile tea.
My cozy red sweater.
A shiny key.
And a front door I could lock from the inside whenever I wanted.
I picked up my red wallet from the windowsill.
I ran my thumb over the cool metal clasp and snapped it firmly shut.
Click.
I smiled in the quiet room.
It had taken me seventy two years to understand one fundamental truth:
A mother can love her family with all her heart without surrendering her dignity.
And sometimes the most important door we ever open in life is the one we finally learn to close.
