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My Mothers...

By , Manteca, CA
You see, we don’t always do what we’re supposed to.
Dad’s don’t always stick around.
Teenagers don’t always show up to school.
And mothers aren’t always mothers.
I know thisfrom experience.
Mine--my mother--she wasn’t always there for me. She loved me, I know this.
But she wasn’t always there for me, she couldn’t be.
I don’t resent her this and I don’t hold it against her either.
It just simply is.
Maybe, I think, because they took me in when I needed it most.
I was lost and needed something, someone. I was so weary of being someone for others. I just wanted someone for me.
So they took me in; without question, without comment, and without selfish intentions.
They loved me simply because I was me.
They gave me opportunities that my mother couldn’t and treated me like family.
I was their other daughter.
Their blood daughter’s other half.
And I loved then more than words could describe. I was luckier than anyone I knew. I had a total of three blood siblings and three other siblings that should have been blood. I had four parents. But only two could be there for me.
I loved them; I loved all of them; I still do.
Until she left.
She thought she had to be more beautiful.
Skinnier, prettier, tanner, taller. More everything.
What I don’t think she understood, though, was that she was our everything. She cooked for us, talked to us, listened to us, understood us, she just was.
Apparently we weren’t there for her though.
She left a suicide note declaring her need for freedom.. and another family.
She betrayed us all!
She was ours and she left us!
I don’t know why; but she did.
Now my brothers don’t have a mother,
my father doesn’t have a wife,
and I don’t have a mother.
Again.





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