I walked up to my room and slammed my door. I didn't care if anyone heard it. Heck, it'd be the best thing in the world if someone would take notice in my actions. Love me for who I am. All that mumbo jumbo. But no, because nobody in my life seems to care. My mother is always either high and drunk or passed out in a bar out of town, and Grandma has to go pick her up. It's a wonder Social Servises hasn't came and got me.
I lay here on my bed now, wishing Dad never died, so Mom wasn't like this. You know what? It's getting to the point that my mother is almost not worthy of being called "Mom" or "Mother." No, a mother is someone who is there for you. Someone to hold you when you cry, to patch up you boo-boos when you fall and to laugh at the good times.
My mother isn't like that. She simply isn't. She hasn't been since Dad died a few years ago. I can remember how happy she looked. The smile on her face could be compared to the Sun, so warm and gentle. Yet, it was powerful, and independant. My mom and dad could have been said to be exact opposites.
My mother's eyes were golden, my father's were silver. Her hair was Dark, curly brown hair. His hair was Pale, short brown hair. My father was a serious person, very quiet. My mother used to never know when to shut up. But they were always happy together. I can't ever remember a time back then that my mother wasn't smiling or either of them fought. But then the accident happened.
It was six years ago, the day before Christmas. I was five then, and I remember the horrified look on my mothers face, and she listened to the voice on the other end of the phone tell her the my Father, my Daddy's car had slipped on some black ice, and the car was completly smashed into a barb wired fence. My Father's neck broke, and the air bag going off was the final straw. He died four hours before they found him. They told my mother that his death should have been painless. "He's in a better place now." the officer said.
"Better Place?!?! Better Place?!?! Are you saying his hole life was crap!?!?! I loved him! ILOVEDHIMYOUSONOFAB****!" was what my mother replyed. I saw my mother, the strongest thing I had ever known, sink into the floor and cry her eyes out, until she fell asleep. Even though I was five, I knew, and relized, things would never be the same again.
I was right, too. About the things never being the same. "Bree!" my mother called from down stairs, "Come here. I want to tell you something!"
"Coming Mom!" I called back, and groaned. I secretly wished she was sober, and hadn't used drugs in a while. But that was unlikely.
I climbed down our oak stairs gently. I slid my hand down the railing and remember something --- Dad had made these stairs. I smiled and ran the rest of the way down the stairs to greet my mom. "Yes?" I asked her.
"Bree. I have some good news." she said smiling. I almost couldn't keep from gasping. Her eyes had the same color to them as when Dad was alive.
"Bree, I've done some thinking. I think that all of the beer and smoking and other sorts of crap has been going on for too long. I've ruined six years of your life, and Bree I'm sorry."
"Mom, you don't have to--."
"Bree," she said quietly, "I'm going into Rehab. I'm sick of not being there for you. Things are going to change, from this day forward."
"Oh Mom!" I said, throughing my arms around her, "I'm so happy for you!"
And for the first time in six years, I cried. But I didn't cry with tears of sadness, oh no.
These tears were joy.