- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Seventeen Years Without a Mother's Love
For a 17 year old, I have a lot of unhappiness. Sure, all teenagers say that now-a-days, but I’m not being petty and hating life because my parents don’t understand me or some idiot broke my heart. My unhappiness comes from several sources.
Okay, so maybe my life isn’t the worst anything has to offer. I mean, yeah, I’m fed, I have a house, clothes on my back, and two parents, but when the things you do have in your life are negative, then there’s going to be negativity in my emotions.
The main source behind why I’m not happy is my own mother. Yes, the woman who carried me for nine months, but once those nine months were over, it seemed like the bond we had was only momentary. My entire 17 years of existence living with a mother who refused to hug me, kiss me, or even tell me she loves me.
I do, though, remember some what of a moment I shared with her, that wasn’t absolutely dreadful. The memory begins as I’m walking into the living room, and I see my mother on the couch, crying. Since me and my mother don’t speak anyways, as heartless as it sounds , I ignore her, until the weeping becomes unbearable.
“Uh, mom? Are you okay?” I asked, beginning to walk towards her.
She doesn’t respond, she just continues crying, not paying any attention to my attempt at compassion. I decide I’m not letting this go. I walk over to her, and gently lay my hand on her shoulder, hoping to show that I’m making an attempt to make her feel better. She looks up at me, with great sadness in her eyes, tears flowing down her face.
I awkwardly wrap my arms around her, hugging her for only a couple seconds, and she doesn’t return the hug.
I release her and look down at her, as there is still tears flowing down her red cheeks.
“Whatever it is, mom, everything will be alright.” I said, compassionately. She just continues crying for a few more seconds, then stops and looks up at me, with some sort of feeling in her eyes, and for once, it wasn’t just an empty look.
She gets up and walks away from me, yet to say a word.
To this day, I still don’t know what my mother was so upset about, nor did I ever get that hug, but I did get a good feeling in my heart when my mother showed me some form of care in her eyes.