Through the Veil

I walked in my mother’s shadow
as her life took roads traveled.

I walked in my own,
and found roads forlorn.

I walk in light,
aligned with my Creator’s design.
And through the veil I shine—
lifted, divine.

It is different now—
looking back at her life
from where I stand.
She has passed on;
the door in this world closed.
But I can still speak to her,
feel her, walk beside her in ways
that don’t require form.

There is a difference
between the roads we inherit
and the ones we choose.
And the balance—
that tightrope between history and becoming—
is an internal struggle many carry.

I have walked the inherited path.
There is nothing against her.
In truth, I love her more now
than I did when I was a child,
watching her walk those roads
with silence and strength.

I now walk differently.
Not to escape,
but to evolve.

I don’t need names for what came before:
no categories,
no titles,
no clean diagnosis of pain.

We all grow up in stories
stitched with both perfect and broken threads.
But I no longer need to hold
every wound in my hands
as proof of my journey.

There is beauty even in suffering,
if you stop trying to control it.
If you let go of the need to label,
you begin to see life differently:
as a series of offerings,
as lessons in release.

I choose what I carry forward.
I choose what I bury with grace.

And in that space,
I rely on the light of my Creator—
on the force that weaves all things.
No name required,
just the knowing.

This is the veil I speak of:
walking from shadow into light,
from inheritance into intention,
from story into soul.

I walk now
not to prove,
but to be.
And that,
is enough.