~ Jovianne Brodeur ~

Journal Entry

January 15, 2019

I was born Jovianne Brodeur in Paris, France; an only child of my parents, Oliver and Lucia Brodeur. I would say that my household was more different than yours. My father was a tailor and my mother worked as an embroiderer, always sewing my clothes, so I didn't have to go and buy them like an ordinary child would. I lived in a comfortable little house nestled between houses in a street near the Pon des Art where I watched lovers go by. They profess their love for each other and throw their key into the Seine. It always seemed magical to me, when I was ten, when I imagined my only true love with a key that could only fit my heart. Cheesy, I know.

I was only thirteen when we decided to move abroad, which I strongly objected to doing. I was angry that my parents wanting me to leave my friends, my school, my home and especially this daydream of a world where I could eventually meet my significant other. I spent my whole teenage years with this undesirable grudge because my fantasy was destroyed.

But I persevered, found my love for flowers, lived a good life with my new home and was determined with the hope that this dream of mine would work. I was never satisfied with what I had and only dreamed of what I would get in the future.

Ten years later, I was in an art convention with my friend for having lost a bet that we had made a few weeks ago and it was there that I met your father. He was that big sullen guy, looking at a painting so intently that I was intrigued to ask what it was about. He gazed at me for a second and my heart skipped a beat as he explained he was an artist and he stood before his painting. I never really believed that fate would enlighten me like this. He became an infatuation, an image that formed in my head and that I thought was the man of my dreams. Soon we went out together. We were hopeless romantics, always in a daze of love that was enough for us to get married in a church and make empty wishes that you know we could not fulfil and I received the name Jovianne (L/N) thinking that this was enough got me.

Then we had you. My precious little (Y/N). I cherished you in your childhood and loved you with all my heart. The same cannot be said of a man married to his work as an artist. Once again, my temper remained as I couldn't stand the fact that a father couldn't act his part on loving his child.

My heart broke when I saw your tears, how you choked on your words and I was left screaming at the man I condemned.

I'm sorry I'm a weak mother. I'm sorry that you had to cry yourself to sleep because I couldn't stop my anger from bursting out when your father and I argued and I'm sorry for this pain I caused you just because I couldn't commit.

Now I blame myself for not being enough for him, for believing that I loved him when I was only pining for an image. I blamed your father and me for not being able to hold on to that string of hope that would have guaranteed you a good normal future. But you out of all people know how stubborn I am.

I was never contented with what reality brought me and now here we are.

I'm sorry for my mistakes, my love. I don't deserve your love with that I put you through but you're all I have and more.

I know I will make it better for you. I promise.

I don't know if you'll ever read this, my precious rose. But if you do, I only want the best for you even when I say things I regret and it hurts me to know that you won't grow up without your father. I love you and only hope for you to have the best life you can imagine because you are enough for me. There is nothing in this world that satisfies me more than seeing you smile.

I will always be there for you and forever be yours,
Mom

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Happy Very Late Mother's Day special for ya'll this week. Stay safe, kids.