I cannot tell where it happened or even exactly when. I could not describe it or tell if it was raining on that day or if there were clouds in the sky. I cannot say if there was yelling or if there was silence. I cannot truly tell you whether it was my mother’s or father’s fault for my mother’s leaving. I cannot recall any of these things, but I can say that the event has affected me for the rest of my life.
Mothers are supposed to care for their children. They are present when their child learns to walk, talk, even when their child loses their first tooth. Mothers see their child trip. They see their child fall, yet they always seem to the patience and strength to pick the child up again. They seem to never make mistakes in their children’s eyes. However, my mother did not fit into that ideal description at all.
I could say that growing up without a mother was difficult, but that statement would be a lie. I had a complete family in my opinion. I had a grandmother and an aunt as my role models. I had a father who spent his time and money on my brother and me. I had a doting grandfather who waited on me at all times solely because I was his first grandchild. I had the world at my feet and a silver spoon in my mouth. To me, nothing was odd, but reality would come fast.
By the time I entered elementary school, I knew what a mother was and why mine was absent (or at least why I thought she was absent). I had come to accept my mother’s leaving; it did nothing to bother me. In fact, it made me feel unique. I loved telling people that I did not have a mother to see their reaction. Their reactions would tell me much about I felt towards her leaving. It was my way of releasing any mixed feelings about my mother because every person I told always pitied me. The pity that they felt for me only strengthened my will to push anger away from my mind. I never hated her for leaving; I would remind myself constantly. I could not let my family’s anger towards her influence me to feel the same. My family was always irritated towards her. They were never open about it, of course; they loved to act as if I could not hear through the walls of my house. They loved to act as if their words would not affect my brother and me, and their words would always cause me to...