In this monologue from the dramatic play “The Hourglass”, Virginia, a mother grapples with her deep-seated inability to emotionally connect with her son, a struggle that stems from her own unfulfilled dreams and a life that diverged sharply from what she once envisioned for herself.
VIRGINIA: You stand there, looking at me, expecting… what? Love? Understanding? I wish I could give you that. I wish I could be the mother you need, the one you deserve. But every time I look at you, I see… I see a life I never planned, dreams that turned to dust.
It’s not fair to you. You’re not responsible for the choices I made, for the paths I walked down, or the ones I didn’t. You’re your own person, not a reflection of my regrets. But knowing that doesn’t change how I feel. It doesn’t fill the gap between us.
I remember holding you, so small, so fragile. I thought then that maybe, just maybe, things would be different. But as you grew, so did the distance, the disconnect. I wanted to reach out, to bridge that chasm, but I didn’t know how. And now, it feels like it’s too late.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the love you needed but never felt, for the warmth you should have known but never did. I’m sorry for being this shell of a mother. I wish… I wish things could have been different for us.
I don’t know if we can ever find a way past this, past my failings. But I want you to know, despite everything, I wish you all the happiness in the world. You deserve that, even if I can’t be the one to give it to you.
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