It’s the pain in her eyes that I remember the most. The disappointment, the hurt, the confusion. Her fifteen-year-old daughter had become a heroin addict. She worked too hard, struggled too long, and strived for too much for this to happen. So many nights she cried for that little girl. The little girl they call “G”, the little girl that barely survived at Birth. Her miracle baby. So many nights she stayed awake not knowing where that little girl was. Is she safe? Is she cold? Is she alone? These questions plagued her mind every single day. The ringing of the phone no longer had the sound of someone trying to reach her. It had the sound of terror. It was the ultimate fear. Something no one talked about but were all very aware of. The announcement of a body found on the news was no longer a part of finding out what was going on in the world. It was her world. She used to sees things like that on the news and think “oh those poor parents”. Now all she can do is listen for the descriptions that they give. Is it her little girl? Her little miracle baby? What would she do if they said it was? What would she do if they said it wasn’t? Because her little girl was already dead in a sense. There was no life behind those big beautiful blue eyes. There was no enthusiasm in her voice. Overnight it’s like she died. However, she was still alive. Living in hell. This poor mother begged God every night to please bring her daughter back. She tells him that she will gladly give her own life if it means her little girl could have another chance at life. Another chance to be a child. How could a child go through such a thing? She will be asking herself this for many many years to come.
That little girl never did return, but her mother still sat by the phone at night. She still begged God to keep her daughter safe, and still remained hopeful that one day she may return. It didnt matter to her what she may be like when she came back.
One day this person walks in the door. She calls this woman mom but it’s certainly not her little girl. Not her little G, not her miracle baby. She sure does resemble her. But she is just the shell of what her daughter once was. Everyone tells her that IS her little girl, but they are wrong. She will never admit that that was her daughter because her daughter wouldn’t lie. Her daughter wouldn’t steal, she wouldn’t deceive and manipulate, and she wouldn’t be in and out of rehabs and jails. They were all wrong. For that little girl existed. She was just buried deep within this shell of a person. This Mother was the only one that knew she would return. She fought long and hard to make sure that happened. She was going to prove them all wrong… because everyone else buried that little girl long ago. They had no hope for her return. But you see, a mother never gives up hope. A mother never sees their child as a failure. What she sees is her little girl that was ripped away years ago. This mother gave her all to help her daughter return. She fought everyday. She never stopped believing. Her little G, her miracle baby, slowly found her way back, but only because of her mother. It was only because her mother told her to never give up. She told her that she would be there every step of the way. She told her that she believed in her. She never shunned her. She never stopped answering the phone. And she was the only one who saw her for who she was inside, and the potential that she knew she had.
And this is what a mother does. This is what MY mother did and still does to this day. Yes, she has her daughter back now but it took many many years to get there. I came and went several times but MY mother was always there waiting with open arms, knowing that I was going to return. I love my mother more than anything in this world and I appreciate her more than she will ever know..Thank you mom…for never giving up hope. Thank you for believing in me when when everyone else gave up.
Poetry
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