The Sky Knows Me by Name
“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.”-J.R.R Tolken I speak to God, though the sky may appear empty. The sky may be a large abyss of blue wandering, but for me, a home for my unanswered prayers. They, my prayers, dangle amongst the clouds, waiting for he, yes him, to make use of them. Prayers may become lost memories, but that I’ve grown to learn not to worry about. Perhaps they might be carried away by his winds, and he will whisper answers through my thoughts, giving me what I want to hear. Whatever use he makes of them, I still send my prayers into the sky, not knowing what will become of them. I never used to send any, but things have changed. Years ago, the sky wasn’t as familiar with me as he is now, which may or may have not been why I never got the answers I wanted. Then again, I still don’t get the answers I want, but maybe it’s best that way. You see, my mother was never the “World’s Greatest Mom”. Not even a little. Not even at all. Being young, I had zero control over her actions or decisions, and could not seem to comprehend why. I used to cry every now and then wishing I could help her, and hated the fact I couldn’t. She had an out of control drug and alcohol problem, and it was destroying her life. Problems arose, resulting in the seeming that everyone had given up on her, even me. However, she continued her ways, the wrong-doings becoming destructive over her life. Each time I turned around, it seemed she was there less and less. As a kid, I could only wish she would be there for every birthday, holiday and performance. In a way, perhaps my feelings were rather selfish, but I didn’t recognize that, and disregarded her personal problems. The day I learned her actions led her to prison for quite a quantity of years, I felt an immediate heartbreak. However, the only emotions I could come across were hopelessness as well as disappointment. ”How could she be so selfish?” I would think. Questioning grew into anger, frustration and ultimately hate. Through this, I realized something, something that would change my mind about the entire situation. It wasn’t even her, but the others around me. It occurred to me that not only did I give up on her, but so had everyone else. When I say everyone, I mean everyone. Not even my great-grandmother, the woman who seemed to only find the good in everyone, had given up on her. Not even my Uncle Carlos, who always promised to stick by her to the end. Evidently I blame none of them, yet I had to change my own mind. I had to believe in her. Everybody needs someone to believe in