The hardest decision I’ve ever had to make was taking Jonah off life support. I was his mother, I was supposed to protect and shelter him from the evils in this world. It’s my fault he’ll never see his fifth birthday. It’s my fault he’s dead.
New day. I'm feeling good, overall. I have three boys, 15, 12 ½, and 11. I am truly blessed to have been with my husband for the years we have been together. We met when I was 18, fresh out of high school. Well, I was about to graduate when we met, but we started dating that fall when I started college.
I was always quick to brag, I have three children from the same man who I've been with for ten wonderful years...such bullshit. Well, at least the wonderful part.
I remember moving out like it was four weeks ago—only it was. I will never forget the look on my mother’s face when I told her that I would not be spending another night under her roof, but under the Whitmore's. Her look was emotionless yet I could feel every emotion she felt—like they were screaming at my directly. The room stood silent but tense as my heart dropped from my chest to my toes. I could feel my mother’s heart shatter through her chest which proceeded in shattering mine. September 25, 2017 was my first day of college, the start of my freshman year, and the day I moved out and found freedom.
For some reason I always picture my father in the week where autumn turns to winter. It’s his favorite time of year because it’s where he feels most comfortable, which makes sense because my father is a man who likes to feel comfortable. Comfortability is the first step to having the upper hand, I think, and the upper-hand is a mandatory thing for men like my father, no matter how few there might be. And there in my head, with him in those last few days of November, sitting in a rocking chair on my porch, puffing on a pipe, frameless glasses and all, pursuing a Robert Frost collection, I am okay with him having the upper-hand.
I'm unsure why my parents still have a hard time seeing me with a black man, when at age eight I had a 50 Cent poster and cried when Morris Chestnut got a girlfriend in a movie. They've had plenty of time to cope with the fact that their daughter isn't racist. They've even had the resources that could help face their own racism. It has recently been brought to my attention that when I start a new relationship my parents hover over pictures and say, "Hope has another black one". I am twenty-three years old. Most of my relationships have been with black men and if we are getting personal you should know none of these racist comments have been said to my face.
If you read part 1, " He's the one!",you may be wondering, what happened within the family to put them against me in such a sudden and odd way. Why would they do such a thing? What did I do to bring this upon myself? Valid questions. My part was being immature and quick to temper. This is how it started and it unfolded like this.
When I was eight years old my father told me that we had money problems and so I brought him my piggy bank. What was only pennies and dimes to most were riches to me? Even with what meagre savings I had to offer, it was offered nonetheless. My father looked like he was going to cry.
First things first, pet-peeves are often used to describe things or actions that really get on a person's nerves. I have quite a lot of those and often far too many to name. Yet, I've managed to come up with a list of five that really, really, get to me on a day to day basis.
So, it all started when I was nine years old, that’s when my parents had it tough. They would leave for work to pay of the rent, they couldn’t afford a babysitter so I had to stay and take care of my two younger siblings. We were a family of six at that time. Anyways I would stay home and literally babysit my brother and sister. I was annoyed because, how can a nine-year-old babysit two other kids? As time went on I didn’t really care when my parents would say “We are leaving for work, put the lock on the door, and make sure your brother and sister eat.” My older brother helped but not enough, he just stayed in his room. That was the first “adult” job I’ve had.
Everyone has their own story, with a different beginning, middle, and end. As you grow up, you picture how your life will be ten or fifteen years down the road. Then as those ten or fifteen years creep up, a realization sets in. Life never ends up how you pictured it. There are so many different paths and hidden doors that lead you to a new destiny with every decision you make. It's true, what they say—every choice creates a ripple.