Generational Hate

Never a word of complaint slipped through my grandmother’s lips. Only love. Her husband, though, was abusive. He was harsh, hateful, and full of hubris. And the two of them raised three daughters. One was brave, bold, and beautiful. One was shy, submissive, and scared. And the third was my mother. My mother was the same as my grandfather, who was the same as his father and his grandmother, too. I see the hurt, the harm and the hate. I will be like my grandmother. I will be love.