A few months pass and I am 16 now. I can feel little kicks from within.
I remember how badly I wanted my mother. She was never a good mom, but she was my mom. It was by far not in any way her nurturing or guidance that I needed. I just needed her for the simple fact she was my mother. Some time had past and she returned home from the house she had earlier so eagerly moved to. I guess somewhere in that year the man and woman in that car saw her for what she was. It’s funny when I think back on it because no matter what she always had a home with me and my father even though we knew her habits, we knew her downfalls. Even when she’d scorn us so badly we still always let her back.
I can remember how happy I was that she came back, I was a baby having a baby and somewhere in the mist of all those hormones I felt like I needed her more than ever. Old habits never die though, and not to long after she returned she planned to leave to New Orleans to work. I remember she spoke of how she’d come back with all the money she made to help me with the baby. She told me how she was doing this all for me.
Deep down I cared not at all about the money, I just didn’t want her to go. I was scared because I knew her, I was afraid she’d end up dead out there. I told her I wanted her to stay, but that was not enough. Once again she had left me alone. I never told anyone how hard I cried the day she left.
I cried because I needed her.
I remember it was only about a month she was gone. She called to say she was on her way home. I can still hear her words like everything was ok, like she never even left me. I remember she returned with nothing not a penny in her pocket, and I just thought to myself she left me for nothing. She left me once again to get high.
Battered emotions, a broken soul. I used to lay there and talk to my growing baby. I’d tell him no matter what I’d never leave him. I’d tell him how much I loved him. I couldn’t ever understand it, I loved him already more than life itself.
Toxic relationships filled every room of that beat up old apartment we called home. Every day seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. I remember the baby was due to arrive soon, and in a life of unfortunate events something would always be bound to go wrong. What seems like such an easy fix now a day was a harrowing tragedy then living on the bare minimum. I remember our washing machine broke, I remember I begged my dad please, please buy a new one. But back then buying a new one meant a month of nothing, it meant an extra trip to the food bank and no shampoo or necessities. I can still see him handing my mother that couple hundred dollars, our only money for that month. She kindly offered to go and buy it herself, but the whole day had passed with out her return. That day turned to a four day binge. I remember when she returned wreaking of alcohol and no washing machine. I had enough, I can still feel the tension in that house as I begged my father not to let her back. I begged him so badly to please just send her on her way. I was so upset at him that day, I was so upset because him just like me always accepted her back.