His sojourn at home was shorter than everyone expected. He had been away from home for a year already, no one could understand why. He would now plunder jewels from the jewelry stores menacing the store owners to give them up so he could sell them to get his hands on his addiction. That only thing he could succumb to, his mind saw it as an infallible gift that could only be captured by beseeching for it. He would only come home 2 times a month, but this he has currently only been coming home on my birthday. I knew that all of this was a motley of reasons that led him to hate the drudgery of just being at home. It was sad, especially for me, to see him struggle to subdue his addiction. There was no predilection in between any of the children, but the youngest one is always special, he was special. And as I was sitting there trying not to extrapolate this situation I shared with my mom how everything was making me assume his future. “He told me that I was never there for him, that I never worried about what he thought and what he was going through. That even though we lived under the same roof, he felt invisible. He felt that he was trapped in this eternal prison. He couldn’t be free from his fear, from his consuming emotions. That I was never there to ask how he was doing, and that I wouldn’t value his presence until I lost him.” I said as my tears amassed in my eyes and let my face be covered in sadness. My mother looked at me suffering, but there was nothing she could do so she just said nothing. My tears could depict my feelings but that past was now an antiquity that haunted me for the rest of my years. I couldn’t be a Mother, I didn’t pursue reciprocity and I couldn’t change that anymore. He was gone.
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AuthorPaola Toledo Real Archives
October 2018
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