Why Was It You, Mom?

By
More by this author
Why was it you, Mom?

What did you ever do?

I remember sitting on the kitchen stool, watching Dad’s fury travel to his raging fist, that continuously striked your face with such force. I wanted to stop him, Mom, I really did. But I also wanted to protect myself. Instead, I sat on the side, crying for you, and wailing at every punch that hit your delicate skin.

Why was it you, Mom?

What did you ever do?

I remember Dad beating me with a belt when I dialed 911, with you beside me, pulling him away. I wanted him to stop, Mom, I really did. But I also wanted him to put his anger on me as a replacement of you. Instead, I let his belt thrash against my numb legs at an incredible speed and energy.

Why was it you, Mom?

What did you ever do?

I remember Dad rushing out of the door with his jacket and keys, only to escape from the police that was soon to come. I wanted to stop him, Mom, I really did. But I wanted him to be as far away from us as possible. Instead, I sat alongside your body on the floor, with a puddle of tears in between us.

Why was it you, Mom?

What did you ever do?

And I remember your funeral, with me missing you so much that people had to pry my body with your coffin apart. “I wanted to stop him, Mom, I really did.” Now I wonder, what if I did?





Join the Discussion

This article has 1 comment. Post your own now!

Nick M. said...
Jan. 6, 2009 at 4:40 am
Amazing...it seems true if it is omg! Keep writing!
 
bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback