At Eighteen

Mom passed away on April 8th, Easter Sunday, three years ago.
It seems as though this year it is affecting all of us more than ever.
Maybe we're actually realizing what all has actually happened.

My eighteenth birthday never felt so empty, never so heart-wrenching. For three weeks I have not been able to bring myself to do anything. Instead, I just sit lost in my thoughts. I cannot come close to explaining why this year was so different; though, I think it's a multitude of things contributing.

Losing mom was by far the smallest of problems, but without her, it seems harder to make it through. I cannot believe my high school years are coming to a close.

I lost her at fifteen; I am now eighteen. I feel far older, matured by emotional abuse, stress, pain. I cannot believe I am only eighteen.

My friends surprised me on my birthday. I had the most wonderful ice cream cake, along with lots of fruits and veggies, my favorite :)
I know I have wonderful people in my life, always supporting me, always caring for me.

I cannot look at anything in the same way. In a few months, I will be off to college, already aware of the world. It won't be the same for others. I have felt out of place, and there's no promise for the next few years. Yet, I am beyond ready for a change of environment. I'm ready for a change of pace.

I guess when all the college decisions came in, it hit me. I am really
leaving. It's more than selling the house. It's more than escaping. It's more than leaving Mississippi. I've never really known anything outside of here. I never thought that I'd be leaving with nothing to look back on, with nothing to come back to. I know I'll always have my sisters, somewhere. Wherever they may be living is my return. Not my house. They are my past, present, future. They are what will be home. I already look forward to the times we will see each other again, new lives, new stories to share.

I'm not looking back in regret. I'm looking forward in hope.
It is time for each of us to heal. We're letting go of each other for the time being. Maybe it's the only way.

So many college options, yet there's only one thing on my mind. How far can I be from everything that matters to me, my sisters? How often will I see them?

It's only a matter of time before another year goes by. Year after year.

“My mother is a poem
I’ll never be able to write,
though everything I write
is a poem to my mother.”
~Sharon Doubiag