Borderline

A mother’s love.

When we think of our mother’s we usually think of the wonderful woman who gave us life. We often reminisce of good memories, getting tears wiped and meals filled with love. I often hear so many people share these wonderful stories of how great their mom’s were or are. I sometimes sit and really wonder to myself why I was robbed of that.

I think back to as early as I can, I remember there was this one day I must have only been about 4 or 5 years old. I remember crying and sobbing because my mother was leaving to work. I can still see my dad trying to comfort me as my sister was sitting on the couch watching TV. I was so upset I cried myself to sleep in the corner of the living room beside the recliner on a huge brown teddy bear. I remember waking up and my mom was on her way home and all the tears were gone because I was going to see her soon. It’s kinda funny when I think back to being so little and the tiniest things felt like the end of the world. I often still wonder why I cried so hard for her.

I can remember being so young and knowing things that a child of 5 years old should not know. I can still see my young face wondering why my parents bedroom door was always locked. I can still hear myself at the age of 5 ask my sister in a shaken scared voice if mommy and daddy do drugs. I picture her face so vividly as she looked to me and replied yes, yes they do. I think at the moment I felt embarrassed. I felt embarrassed because I knew it wasn’t right. It wasn’t what a “normal” family was supposed to be like. I certainly could never have imagined how not normal they really could be.

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