She told me life isn’t always about doing what’s best for you, but sacrificing for others. You should never depend on anyone to keep you on your feet; you’re strong enough to stand up on your own. It was from her that I learned happiness comes in all sorts of forms, sometimes being happy consists of giving up your own.
Through the duration of my parents’ marriage I witnessed so much hurt, mentally and physically. From thrashing choices of words directed towards my Mom, physical contact no child should ever see, to lonely nights I spent slumbering with her because Dad never came home. I witnessed it all. I loved my father, but even as a young child I knew my mom deserved much more than what he offered.
I walked in on her crying; this was no surprise. I was sick of seeing her this way, but how could a seven year old possibly have the right to decide what’s best for their parent? I figured she thought I was too young to understand what was going on. But I did. I remember sitting there right beside her on the cloud mattress, as I liked to call it; I gently brushed my hand through her hair and softly told her it would be alright. There were so many thoughts running through my mind I had to say something. Before I could think, I innocently whispered, “Why don’t you leave him, Mommy?” The way her eyes glared at me I knew right away this made her realize. To have your own child notice your sorrow and decide what’s best for you is a definite eye opener.
It wasn’t until the divorce was final and we had a house of our very own that I realized she put up with him all those years for her children. We were the reason she put herself through stress no other woman could ever bear. Our own happiness was much more important to her than her own. She knew growing up without a father could really affect us, and in a way, she was right. Adjusting to him moving out took a huge toll on us, but we knew it was for all the right reasons. When it came down to it, the happiness of our free mother was much more important than the absence of our silent father.
Those first few years were a little tough for my mother financially. She had always been a house wife while my father worked countless hours, that was the one thing he ever did good, supporting us. Now it was Moms turn to bring the food to the table. I watched her as she struggled, balancing school, work, and fending for us when she got home. Although, she tried to hide we were