|
Birthgiver
They say it is difficult growing up without a father figure. But what about your birthgiver? My mother wasn’t there to help me walk, to teach me how to ride a bike, or how to talk. Foster care had called my name: doors busted down; my mom had committed a crime. I was taken away at three years old, and my father would visit; his hand had been all that I could hold. My mom decided drugs were the answer, chose them over her father with brain cancer. Forgetting to call on my birthday became a tradition; begging for a mom to come home on Thanksgiving wasn’t just wishing. But my father was always there; he helped clothe me and put up my hair. My grandma was there through thick and thin; both her and my dad worked for days on end. My mother has done drugs since before I was born; still to this day, without them she is torn. Though they’ve damaged her mind, she still doesn’t stop. She has been to mental clinics with drugs to her name; now schizophrenic, she only has herself to blame. When I think to myself, I remember a beautiful mother. She had a fairy tattoo, and hair just like mine. They would relate me to her but I am one of a kind. I haven’t seen seen her for over ten years. Many times, it has brought me to tears. She was my mother and I really did love her, but the face that she now has, has become disguised from my eyes. |
|
"I grew up not really having a mother to guide and teach me the ways of life. Instead, I had little memories of her from here and there. My father, stepmother, and grandmother all took care of me and are the reason I am who I am today." - Lexi Berry, 10th grade, Lewis Central High School