My mother left us (my dad and I) when I was 11. The truth was hazy to me then, I just knew she wouldn’t be coming to my next birthday party. My mother was a drug addict, and looking back this was the best thing she could have done for herself and for me. I spent a lot of childhood hating her, but fiercely defend on her to anyone who dared ask “whether she’d be coming to the talent show” or “if my mommy would come for career day.” I was furious, heartbroken and jealous of the pretty girls and their ever-present mothers. When she came back into my life I kept her at a distance for 5 years. That is until now: now when I understand what it means to fuck up. To say “I’m sorry” and mean it. To start over. I wouldn’t change a thing about our past, because loving her as she is now means loving everything she was, and everything she can be.
-Middlebury College, ’18