I inherited a lot from my mother. I inherited her love of reading novels and watching old movies and savoring hot cups of sweet tea.
Like her, I think everything is better with butter on it, and while we both loved travel, home is always where we both fit best. I inherited none of my mother's passion or skills related to cooking or baking, but I have some of her jewelry and most of her book-of-the-month-club books.
I inherited her intelligence and her warmth, her love of family and of family history. Although I know that she never wanted me to, I also inherited my mom's trauma.
Her childhood wounds closed her off emotionally for much of my life, to my great detriment. I am grateful that my recovery prompted conversations between us that led to some healing for her, some answers for me.
She passed heartbreaking stories on to me that I still hold, but not too tightly. I do my own work to release them.