Two pillars in my life. My mother. My bending. I lost my mother years ago, but I still feel the pain to this day. Every memory of my childhood is twined with her and the earth below my feet. Her job was demanding, especially in the early days of the city, but I looked forward every day to the time when she would come home and show me how to shape stone with my hands. In those happy evenings I had no eyes for my father and he would look on and laugh indulgently as I stood beside my mother trying to bend as well as she did.
I'll never forget her smile the first time I managed to bend metal. I stood dumbfounded with the iron plate twisted in my hands, but it clattered to the floor as she swept me up and danced me around the room. Years later when I succeeded her as police chief she wore that same smile and laughed with pride and happiness. Earthbending and my mother. There was no separating the two in my mind.
Since I lost her, my bending has been a constant reminder of her presence. When I closed my eyes and formed the earth I could almost feel her standing behind my shoulder watching. I don't regret what I did, not for a second. But it is very hard when my feet touch the floor and I feel nothing but unforgiving stone. I press a hand to the earth and it rejects me. I've been cut adrift from everything I knew and I've lost my connection to those memories that sustained me. It is almost as if she has died a second time, and I feel as helpless as I did when I was a child and knew she was the strongest woman in the world. But I must stand. I must endure.