Oona Out of Order

by Margarita Montimore

When I was growing up, Mama used to say what you dislike in other people is really what you dislike in yourself.

Anger can be an energy. Don’t burn, soar.

There was an inherent satisfaction in making anyone laugh, but when it was your own kid? It felt like a superpower.

Imperfect was better than unspoken.

But I get it now. You weren’t adding chaos to my life. You were adding color.”

All good things ended, always. The trick was to enjoy them while they lasted.

There would be bad days, there always would. But she’d collect these good days, each one illuminated, and string them together until they glowed brightly in her memory like Christmas lights in a mirrored room.