the kitchen table

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
this is just a short story about some things in my life.
i am not begging for any sort of sympathy, i just love to write.

Submitted: October 19, 2016

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Submitted: October 19, 2016

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The Kitchen Table

 

The Kitchen Table is the memory I have of growing up. Sitting there with my four siblings, and two parents. Laughing, joking, smiling, memories. That was my childhood. I loved every bit of it. Every night, sitting as a family, eating a meal, even if it wasn’t home cooked. Whether it be McDonalds, Taco Bell, home cooked spaghetti, or hot dogs. I wasn’t doing without. My three brothers, one sister, a mom, and a dad, laughing as the boys beat each other to, and I emphasize, almost a pulp. Dad would yell at them to stop, and eventually they would. Even if it took an hour. They would get tired, and go play video games. See, we seemed like a normal family to the rest of the town, yet, inside that house, around that kitchen table, it was FAR from a regular family.

Three boys, two girls, a mom, and a dad. That’s all it took to make this family perfect in my eyes. For almost eight years I grew up with my whole family, a group of crazy idiots who knew how to have fun. On June 22nd, 2010, my brother Nicholas Allan Rogers, passed away. Eleven years old, only four years older than me. The closest sibling I had, died. It was hard.

That was the end of the “kitchen table family”.

Now, six years later, the three older siblings moved out, and it’s only me, the thirteen-year-old daughter, and the two parents. A daughter, a mom, and a dad. That’s all I have at home. No longer the perfect family everyone in this town thinks we were. I sit here today, at the kitchen table, two of my now three siblings, sitting around me. We all smile, laugh, and remember the memories of the old kitchen table.

My brother is gone at work, supporting his family of three kids and a girlfriend. My sister came here alone as her boyfriend takes care of her two kids. My other brother came here with his wife and one child.

I look around and realize how blessed I am to have the family I do. To have all my nieces and nephews, and for still having my two parents. Yet, I have lost a brother, his loss made our family stronger and closer. Now, I’m not saying his passing is a good thing, believe me, it kills me every day to wake up in a new house, a house I didn’t grow up in, and to realize that him not being in our old house, hurt us all so much, we had to move.  It killed me to grow up without my brother.

I had three brothers growing up. Now I basically have none. My two I had left moved out when they turned eighteen. Both of which have gradually drifted away from me. One, the second oldest brother, puts forth no effort to have any kind of relationship with me. The second, the oldest brother, has slowly but surely started a relationship with me.

My sister, on the other hand, has done so much to have a relationship with me. Her and I are very close, and I know I can tell her anything. I love my older sister so much. She is my rock.

Now, many of you may be asking- “Well, what happens now?” I’ll tell you what happens. I move on, I go on with life, get over myself and realize all the things that I have the capability of doing. It’s not that easy. Yes, I write, I sing, I am taking piano and ukulele lessons, but someone doesn’t just get over a broken childhood.

Growing up. This is the hard part. Coming to the realization that my life is about to be over-flowed with responsibilities and jobs that I have to get done. Taking care of myself at times, this can be hard. Especially when you’re going through your parents fourth separation. HAH! This is the life of an average fourteen-year-old.  

Sometimes, people ask me, “If you could wish for anything, what would it be?” To have a normal life, to have my brother back, to not have to worry about every single god damn thing because I am absolutely dying on the inside. I want to live like every other fourteen-year-old I know does.

All I want is normality, and someone who understands me.

Is that so much to ask?


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