My mother and I are so close yet so far. All memories of my mother are positive and everytime I think of her I visualize her beautiful face smiling back at me. Some people say I look like her but I disagree. Her hair is brown, her skin lighter than mines, and her eye color blue one day and green another. My mom is mixed; her father Italian, her mother Irish. People think I’m just Puerto Rican but I’m mixed.
She always encouraged me to be successful, to be independent, and to make the right choices. Until this day she still does. Living with my mom in a church is my earliest memory(before I was in Kindergarten). She taught me to always have faith, she also taught me to write down what I was feeling. Before bed we’d lay together and write in my little journal with sparkly pens. I loved sparkly pens just as my mother did. It was like writing with fairy dust.The bed as comfortable as my moms comfort and the grey blanket as fluffy as the clouds. All was dark except for the lamp besides us, and all was quiet except for our voices. “Can you pass me the green pen?” I’d say and “how was your day?” my mother would ask. I don’t recall being with my mother after that time up until the visit to prison.
At this time lived with my stepdad, my little sister, and my little brother. I remember being so happy when my step dad told me we were going to see my mom. It’s funny how I was so excited to go to jail. Like in the movies, I thought we’d either be sitting across from each other or talking on the phone through a window; but it was nothing like that. I entered a bright white room filled with people in bright orange outfits. As soon as I saw my mom, my brother and sister ran alongside me to jump in her arms. We asked her questions like, “ how small was I when I was a baby? When is my birthday?” etc. I was so excited when she told me where my birth mark was and even more thrilled when she told me I was going to live with her when she got out. I loved my mom even more because with all that info, I know she loves me and cares for me even though I wasn’t with her. We gave hugs, kisses, and we left.
Time passed by and I was livng with my mother. My brother and sister didn’t want to live with her so I was the only one to leave. Filled with remorse, I called them every night to let them know I love them so they’d understand that even though I’m not really there, I am there because I care for them and I’m here for them. They slept over for once around Christmas. Life continued and I went to 1st grade, I had many friends, and had so many pets. Everything was great and mom was almost always with me. Sometimes, she’d go to work or go out to get something or so I was told. My memories aren’t so clear but I remember not attending school anymore then moving back with my step dad. I had to redo 1st grade plus I had to start school late because of my birthday. I hate the fact of being 16 in 9th grade. After many years of living with my step dad,then living with my real father, my mom popped up here and there.
I’ve always had mixed emotions for my mother but as I got older I felt less sorrowful and upset with her. She was in and out my life and for right now, not here at all but she’s still my motivation. I want to do good for her and make her proud so that when I am successful she’ll know it was because of her. Those little visits really meant so much to me. From what everyone says, she’s not someone to be inspired by, or someone to love, but I truly know her and I know how much she went through and goes through. In fact, my social justice open letter has to do with her. I have never heard, “ Absence makes the heart grow fonder” but when I did I immediately knew I would cherish this adage etternaly.