A Part of Her

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic
"I hate you!" that was the last time I saw her. My immature and foolish actions ruined my relationship with my mom. I remember her favorite spot in the kitchen. I miss the days when I saw her sit on her chair.

Submitted: October 12, 2011

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Submitted: October 12, 2011

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A Part of Her

I was sitting on her favorite chair gazing at the beautiful scenery of the park across the street through the large kitchen window. What does she ponder about every time she sits here? She would always be writing something secretly while sitting on her chair. As I looked at the neat and empty desk in front of me, I began to remember the day I left home a couple of months back during the summer. I yelled with great rage and said the most horrible things that I didn’t know I was even capable of saying in front of my mom. Lastly, I screamed, “I hate you!” which instantly broke her heart. The look on my mom’s face was unforgettable. During that time, I never knew her heart was so weak, and I tried to comfort myself after saying those hurtful words. However, my eyes couldn’t bear to look at her favorite park anymore.

“I hate you! I’m never going to speak or see you again!” As soon as I hollered to my mom, I stormed out of the house. However, I saw a glimpse of her face. The look on my mom’s face could not be erased from my mind. Her eyes were slowly closing, and I saw the trembling in her pupils while her lips were completely sealed. Her face quickly turned as pale as death, and her emotions were expressed through her expression on her face. That was the last time I saw my mom.  Resting on the cool bench under a tree, I couldn’t help but think about what just happened. “Why doesn’t she love me anymore?” “Does she even care about me?” I thought to myself. If only my dad never left us, then my mom wouldn’t have been determined to move. She believed that staying near my dad would cause a bad influence on me, because of his abusive actions and love for alcohol. However, I wasn’t ready to move because I actually had a life at school with friends, and like any other ordinary teenage girl, I didn’t want to start brand new in a different city. The sudden decision to move just wasn’t fair. My thoughts were interrupted when my phone abruptly rang.

She’s gone. The hospital told me that my mom died from a heart attack. It has already been a month since the funeral, and I’ve been living with my aunt. Stuck in a lonely and dark abyss, I thought about her everyday. How could I not? I felt miserable for separating from my mom in such a terrible manner, and I wasn’t even able to say that I was sorry. I couldn’t tell others about the truth behind my mom’s heart attack; I was too embarrassed of my immature behavior and actions. I wanted to hide. As the days of hiding increased, I also began to have illusions of even strangers judging me. Distressed from being trapped and in total solitude, my pain grew gradually like a monster inside me each day. I locked the door to my house without being able to pack or clean the house.

After another month since I’ve left the house, emails and cards from my mom started to be delivered. While reading her letters, I laughed and cried. On my birthday, she even sent me my last birthday card that I would ever receive from my mom. After a few weeks of endless letters, my last one was delivered. I cautiously opened the envelope, and tears fell down my cheeks like an overflowing stream. My name, Thea, was written innumerably on the letter, and at the bottom, it said, “I love you.”  I began to realize the love that I thought I lost. My mom’s love had always been genuine towards me even though I was the one who always made the mistakes. She never hated me. My mom’s only desire was for me to return to my normal self, and back to the days when I was loving, caring, and happy.

The next day, I went back to my mom’s house. It had already been 2 months since I had been to that kitchen. I almost finished packing the furniture and my belongings from my house, and only the chair remained in the same exact location in front of the large kitchen window. I sat on the chair, just as my mom always had, and wrote my own letter for her. I thoughtfully and as honest as possible, I wrote, “I am sorry. I’m sorry for doubting your love for me and for my childish behaviors. Through your great love and encouragement, I’ve begun to appreciate life and just enjoy it. Please forgive me, and I love you.” After moving all the belongings to my aunt’s house, my mom’s favorite chair was placed in my kitchen so that I would always have a part of her with me.

 


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