6
Shortly after I was born, my dad, who adored me, died from an illness. With Mom always at work, it was just Grandma Whitney and me at home.
Grandma Whitney wasn’t exactly warm. She’d spend hours just staring out the window, sometimes even forgetting to feed me. My childhood was marked by hunger and loneliness.
I used to complain to Mom when she would still talk to me.
She’d pull me close and comfort me, saying that her mother just missed her husband a lot.
As a kid, I didn’t really get what missing someone meant. I just kind of knew Grandma Whitney wasn’t a bad person.
One day, after a lot of begging, Grandma Whitney finally agreed to take
me out.
It was a beautiful day, sunny with a slight breeze. Grandma Whitney had dressed up for the occasion, and she took me to the amusement park at the mall.
I played all afternoon, sweating and laughing, until I realized Grandma Whitney was gone.
Suddenly, the crowd around me erupted. Someone yelled that a person was about to jump from the top floor.
My heart sank. I followed the crowd and found Grandma Whitney on the rooftop, her hair blowing in the wind.
She was shouting her husband’s name into the breeze.
Then, in an instant, before anyone could react, Grandma Whitney jumped.
By the time Mom arrived, all she saw was me, standing there, shaking uncontrollably from shock.
But she didn’t comfort me. Maybe her dream of promotion was shattered because of me, or maybe her only relative left her like this.
With a dark expression, she hit me repeatedly in front of everyone, screaming, “Who told you to bring my mother out? You knew she was upset.
Because of you, I lost my mother!”
After her outburst, Mom collapsed and cried uncontrollably. The onlookers gave me strange looks, and, feeling scared, I forced my tears back.
In that moment, I realized that not only did Mom lose her mom, but I also lost the mom who I imagined still loved me.
Kelly moving in made my already tough teenage years even worse.
After Grandma Whitney passed away, Mom was always at the station, buried in work. When she did come home, she’d go straight to bed.
I tried to talk to her, but she would just coldly glance at me and turn away, not sparing me a second look.
Mom hated me, her flesh and blood.
The day I got my first period was terrifying. I found blood unexpectedly and cried quietly in the bathroom.
I kept my crying low because I didn’t want to wake Mom and deal with her disdain.
She still woke up, though. Irritated, she banged on the door, demanding to know what was wrong.
It took me a while, but I finally whispered back that I had gotten my period.
There was a long silence outside the door. Then, suddenly, she burst in and tossed a sanitary pad at me. “Clean up your pants and underwear. I don’t want to see the mess.”
I remember squatting in the bathroom, clutching the pad, crying so hard I could barely breathe.
That fleeting moment of care from Mom left me shocked. But soon, everything was overshadowed by Kelly’s presence.
Kelly was always nice to me, calling me sweetly by nicknames. She
seemed perfect in every way.
Seeing Mom with her showed me what a normal mother–daughter relationship could be like.
Mom would take days off to go to Kelly’s school events. She’d cook for her, and they’d take walks together, hand in hand..
I kept wondering, was it really all my fault that Mom hated me? Night after night, I’d cry into my pillow and blame myself. I thought it was my fault for bringing Grandma out that day.
I convinced myself that I was the reason for everything bad.
I thought, “Mom, why are you crying now in the station now that you know I’m dead?
Did I actually matter to you?”
