Waiting for OK

I also knew that you wouldn’t stop worrying about me. Worry about leaving me in a financially bad place. Worry about my having to do as you did when da died- going through his things, donating clothes, etc. You’d tried to get friends to ‘shop in your closet.’ Worry about what this was doing to me. The same worry that’s been a throughline since the day you found out you were goan to be my mother.

I tell you to not worry; that I’ll be fine.

As I sit there, moving your hair just so, I realize that’s what you were waiting for, my ‘It’s OK.’