My mother wasn't always around. I do not recall a time when she was there for any amount of time that may have been more than long enough to send someone else my way. Often I think that I wasn't wanted because she didn't care. That the doctors taking me away at birth was more than she could bare to stand, and that this forever began the cause of a most common mother on the run. The recollections of my past are few in number, but the ones I hold are maintained only by my own unresting fear. What child understands death when it is hidden from sight. A constant weave of lies made by those who cared, filled when pain as they watched a child slowly seem to loose all life, and  on top of all that have to cover up the fading tracks of those who would disappear. What reasons would be valid to explain as the young girl grew up calling her mother by her first name. This stake was driven deeper in when the mother was nothing more than a friend.  Some than came and went like seasons.  I feel that now i'm older that I should know and understand the very causes that bring me this subconscious pain. I want to pretend that everything played out so much differently than this saddening reality. She grew up sense then at least it appears that way. I know this is something that I wish I was proud to write, but the truth is that it is not something that will be done. My mother will always be my mother. She even in faltered ways still showed me the person I want to be, or more to say the person I don't want to become.