Snippets

Snippet #15

My screams are louder at night.

When memory after memory crashes into my head. The way she hugged me when I got lonely. The way she laughed. The way she got mad and the way she cried.

My screams are louder at night.

When I see the empty mattress beside me. As I remember the way I'd make the bed for her, even after she left, and wait until she got home. As I remember the way I woke up heartbroken every morning after seeing that she never came home. That she never would come back home.

My screams are louder at night.

When I remember the stories my friends tell me about their mothers. Whether it be something funny that they did, or whether it was just their mother getting mad at them. As I realize, despite my mother still being alive, I might never get that again. Because the damage had already been done.

People think I don't miss her. But they don't know the way I cried when she said her final goodbye as she left. They don't know the way I cried when I realized, that might've been the last time I saw her.

But they're not wrong. Because acting like I'm fine is easier than showing I miss her. It's easier than letting them hear my screams because I could never explain how I really feel.

How could I not miss her? Wherever she is, wherever I am, no matter what, I am still my mother's child.