Fine lines wrinkle the face I once caressed with tiny hands 
While being cradled in the security of her arms
The auburn hair I ran my fingers through in the darkness of her bedroom
To chase away the nightmares of her dying
Is now the color of sunshine and honey
Her once soft exterior has been replaced by a hardened exoskeleton
A suit of armor pristinely polished by every hardship she has suffered
She tells me that once, as an infant, while she held me in my sleep 
My father pointed a gun to her face while she remained rooted to the couch
Serenaded by the ravings of a lunatic
She says that this is how I fell asleep at night
Coaxed into my dreams by lullabies in the form of shouts
Being told bedtime stories devolved into screams
She’s now unrecognizable as the woman who once shielded me from life’s abuses
Her years of torment at the hands of a man who broke and bruised her
Have fashioned her into an impenetrable fortress 
She told me years ago she no longer knows who I am
And although I feel the same as I did when I was five years old
Being held in her arms while she soothingly quieted my cries
I know that I have evolved too 
When I look at myself in the mirror 
I see in me what I see in her
A haunting specter of the frightened little girl I once was
Existing in a constant state of fight or flight
When I look at my mother, I see the long dead ghost 
Of the young woman frightened for her life and that of her children 
Wandering the eerie halls of my nostalgic mind
While I mourn the familiarity of the people we were while we fought to survive
I wonder, if the foundation of our bond was forged in the fires of Hell
How do we reacquaint ourselves without the context of shared trauma?