It hit me today, while I was eating a grilled cheese.

My dad is the keeper of my childhood memories.
I had always thought that it would be my mom.
But she moved when I was 14, didn’t see my prom.
When I was showing off my Corolla, posing like a swan.
My dad took photos of me in my dress on the lawn.
When I graduated high school, my mom traveled to be there.
But she forced me to take away my dad’s dinner chair.
When I got married, my dad stood by my side,
Tolerated the heat to get a picture with the bride.
My mom had changed her clothes because “We really have to run; My spouse has to make it home to get some work done”
She’s immortalized in her sweats for the official family pic.
Next to my stepdad who was smirking like a dick.
When I graduated nursing school, my mom and dad pinned me.
I put my foot down for dinner and said my dad would be attending.
He was there in the hospital when I had my first baby.
While my mom got to meet her around Day 180.
My husband got cancer, I begged her to be here.
She sent me some money and a healthy dose of fear.
It’s not that she is a bad parent or I think she doesn’t care.
I know that she loves me but she doesn’t like to share.
We all make our choices and the effects ripple out.
And sometimes the stain is too deep to wash out.
Nobody is perfect, but the ball fits the glove.
I still search for proof of my mother’s selfish love.