I read through everything that I write and it makes me wonder...
When did my self image totally deflate?
I know who I am and what I stand for...
Or who I was and what I stood for?
Am I losing that now? Down the drain with everything else?
If my mother dies will I die with her?
The only thing that keeps me so inspired.
The only person I can truly talk to.
The only one who understands where I really came from...
The bad side of the train tracks... 8 years fleeing.
Eviction to eviction just to keep a roof.
One bed, one pillow, one mom, one daughter.
That car you needed a butter knife to get into and a screw driver to start.
A little girl so amused in the passenger seat.
My burger flipping hero.
And now thanks to her, I don't need much.
But now, because of her, I have learned to settle for much less.
And I remember blood spatter, the first time I thought I lost her.
I was almost 3. The blood had a scent.
I remember the hand of a man holding my mothers head...
like a melon, smashing it into the counter's edge... and the blood painting me red and the shrills and popping sound sunk my heart and I couldn't do anything... forever haunted.
And I somehow managed to grow up "good."
But now I am letting go as she lets go.
Hospital beds, blood clots in heart and in head.
Weekly transfusions. Weekly confusion.
And I am sorry that I am leaving... but I cannot watch you "almost die" again.
And I don't have the support I need to handle this... it's like I'm three, covered in blood... in that little white cockroach infested kitchen again.
I am losing you mom. I am losing me. You are my footing... now where will I land?