I wrote this as a present for my Mum this Mother’s day and wanted to share it with you guys. It’s not comedy just some writing that I’m quite proud of.
She could remember a time when they hadn’t been three. She remembered before when she was two and her second was less than her, dragging her down rather than raising her up. Two, she had been told, was the number you aspire to. Two was the end of a long string of disappointments. The two would lead to three and maybe four if you were lucky. In the end it hadn’t been two that gave her the sense of completeness she’d been promised, if anything two had left her empty and nostalgic for half remembered dreams.
Three took longer to come than anyone could have imagined. Three was a chore of creation, she’d laboured for days to bring Three into this world and when she did it was more like three and a half. Three had pushed a hole into her world that filled immediately with exhaustion. The exhaustion, however, wasn’t the disability she would have imagined. The exhaustion brought with it something else, a deep sense of need. Need to provide, to succeed, to win. Three hadn’t seemed like the chore Two was, even though Three was easily more work than she could ever have imagined. Three had dragged something else into her life when it came kicking and screaming into this world. Three brought love.
Four was unexpected. Not unplanned just unexpected. Four meant Three was not set to solely dominate her attention and, after all, Three would need a playmate. Four completed the collection. Four was the perfect number for happiness, she had been told on numerous occasions, Four would change everything for the better. Four brought more the same exhaustion Three had bought but again love was a constant. It was tough but it was wonderful.
The day came when she realised Two was not perfect and hadn’t been for as long as she could remember. She didn’t hate Two for Two had meant Three and Four but she pitied him for the time he wasted searching for Five, Six and maybe even Seven. She’d felt like Two was unnecessary for the future, he’d served his purpose and now all he seemed to be for was to serve as an example of how not to exist. A cautionary tale told to Three and Four when they lamented the lack of Two. The severance had been traumatic, leaving her emotionally drained and weeping in a supermarket. She mourned the loss of Two as one would mourn the loss of a gangrenous limb, previously part of you but now toxic to the whole.
By and by the loss of Two became a strength for her. They were much stronger as a trifecta, an arrow head of opportunity forging forward through multitudes of adversity. Many was the time she thought they’d fall. Outside influences strived to see them fail “a triangle is not as strong as a square” they’d argue “if one side falls the whole lot goes” and she’d always answer the same way “then no side shall fall”.
And then came the day they were no longer a triple. Out of nowhere Three became Four became Five became Six and so on. The strength of the Three had extended into a veritable army of figures, each hold the other aloft with pure will and love, unending, constantly radiating love. The love flowed through the legion like petals in a flower, blossoming from the middle and never ceasing. Flowing from her.