I remember when my life was perfect,
I remember when my life wasn’t so perfect.
I remember finding out that my mom had cancer for the first time.
I remember being confused, crying every night, praying to a God that I wasn’t even sure existed.
I remember finding out she beat cancer, and thanking that God that I began to believe existed.
I remember hearing my mother crying in her room, calling out to my uncle, saying, “It’s bad this time.”
I remember finding out that my father was in jail, again.
I remember hugging my mother to console her only to feel a lump on her chest that told me she had cancer again.
I remember not feeling anything anymore except worry about what would become of my life at only thirteen years old.
I was losing my mother, and I had lost my father to the system.
I remember visiting my father in jail, firmly gripping my sister’s hand and bracing myself for what I was about to tell him through a glass window.
Mommy died.
I remember moving from county to county, state to state, even having a short stay in another country.
I remember moving to California about four years after Mom died and starting over by myself.
I remember all the lessons I’ve learned that have shaped me into what I am now.
