Admittedly I'm SHY about sharing ramblings- But here's a journal entry.
I am conflicted.
It's a hard thing to decide, whether to live or die. I've thought long and hard, and witnessed it just as often. I've a long time on the world I live if I choose it to be so, where as one child I brought into it does not. She has no idea of her father's history, nor his end. I feel he should have gone with valor somehow, as if it would have more meaning to a shorter lifespan, but I acted as I did. I did not convince him otherwise. As I did not convince him otherwise the first time. Perhaps I did but it was too late? Either way. It was indeed too late, back then.
I need what we have to mean more. For her short life to mean and achieve just as much as many Elven youths do. I am harsh on her. I am harsher on her more than others and I don't know why, perhaps the consistent reminder of her parentage. Perhaps not.
Motherhood is a difficult thing. The fact she will perhaps know it, experience it herself one day frightens me. More so, when I realise I shall look younger than she does as it occurs. The moment I appear equal to her grandchildren terrifies me.
It makes me wish to pass in the same timespan most human mothers would. To have brought my three past their youngest years, to have survived, is the best I feel I can manage. There are equal amounts of pride felt as I feel regret, and I doubt those will leave me.
No mother is perfect. Not all Mothers are. This is an accepted fact upon many, even in generations before my birth. We learn, and we continue to learn until we pass. I need to accept this, even if they despise me for how badly I've done. I remain hopeful that in the errors of my ways, they will learn for their own, and in that I may find peace.
I'm sorry, Evelyn. You deserve better.