The Problem with Players (Problem #2)

by Brittainy C. Cherry

And the only thing that kept crossing my mind as I sobbed into the pillowcase was how deeply I wished Mama was there to hug me. To hold me. To tell me everything would be fine. I deserved more time with her. I deserved more comfort through heartbreaks and more laughter during the happy days. I deserved to be able to call her whenever the world was swallowing me whole. I deserved her comforting voice to remind me that everything would be okay, even if it seemed like nothing would ever be okay again. I deserved more of her love, and I wished she was there to hold me in her arms as if I were still her little girl. It wasn’t fair that mamas could die. Their daughters still needed them so very much, no matter how much we grew up.

I feel this so deeply in my spirit😔

“Yeah, but baby girl, asking for help doesn’t make you weak. Sometimes asking for help is the strongest thing a person could ever do.”

“The sunbeams are the small bursts of light that break through one’s window of depression.

The little flickers of light that remind you of how life can feel. Those sunbeams can be anything. People, places, activities.

“Why did she have to die? She ruined everything. She ruined fucking everything, and I’m so sick of missing her. I’m so fucking pissed that I have to miss her for the rest of my fucking life,” he cried.

The feeling of resentment for a loved one dying. The feeling of abandonment. The feeling of emptiness. No child should’ve lost a parent at such a young age. It was unfair and cruel of life to allow such things to happen.