She had me gassed, but there was always uneasiness in laughing at my mother. Even while I was laughing, there was an uncomfortable feeling that settled in the pit of my stomach. She’d given birth to me. She was blood. Those types of things are deserving of love, and I did love her. Since I was a kid, I’d carried those few moments when she came around sober like treasure. I’d always hoped she’d become a real mother. But with time, I realized that someone can’t give what they don’t have. She was what she was, an addict, and there was nothing that could be said or done to change her. Death was
...more
