Mirrors of my Mother post 2

I grew up about as calmly and steadily as the summer wind that blew around me. I could mark the hours by how many rows a combine had done, and which way the sunflowers had their heads turned. I graduated with every child that I had gone to kindergarten with, and they all still remembered the tears I cried every day of kindergarten and the way I never answered our teachers and instead opted to stare at my stomach. They remembered and respected my quietness and absolute disdain towards any group setting or function. I guess they had accepted me as a loner, and they left me be. Eventually, even the teachers accepted my inability to answer and they too left me be.

My grandfather raised me. He was about as lonely and quiet as I was, though he had a few farm buddies that he went to coffee with at 5:30 in the morning. But he was always back to drive me to school. I guess he understood my silence as a deep mourning for the losses in my early life. He'd lost too. He'd lost his wife before I was born, and then he'd lost my mom way before she died. I guess the universe had realized we were kindred spirits as well as repetitive relatives.

Eventually though, my emotions got to me. I longed to know my parents. Who they were. Where they went, and why did they leave me? I had long since decided that my mother was to blame. She was the crux on which my life was made. She held the options and with haste she left me to grow up alone amongst cornstalks and cloud shadowed hills. Because I was an orphan, I needed answers. I needed to be able to become right with myself. I searched for answers. I expected them to be tangible delicious things that I had waited a lifetime to taste. But in the end, I was left with more questions--I was left with myself...alone.

My name is Ganesha.