Divorce is something a child has no control over. It isn’t our decision, it isn’t something we can change, and it isn’t something I was expecting. Late last year, my parents reached a point in their marriage, where it became impossible to live with one another. After countless hours of thinking, and much discussion, they decided to separate. I begged, and screamed, because this wasn’t the first time they had fought, it always got better, things were worse in the past. My family was perfect, and this was just a phase. I was in denial that something like this would happen to me. It had already begun to affect me, I cried for hours daily, I was quieter at school, I took out my anger on the wrong people, and my grades started to drop. Worst of all, my mind kept racing trying to make a decision, “Who did I want to live with?”
I have always been a daddy’s girl, we were inseparable, but he couldn’t do as much as my mother. My mother had always been there for me, for school, for trouble, for my girl problems. My dad was never able to take on those roles, although he loved me and tried doing whatever he could. I couldn’t handle the thought of being away from my dad. After all, it wasn’t like I would never see my mother again, she can easily be there when I need her. I decided to move in with my dad. Throughout the moving process, I cried. I was leaving my home where I lived for the last seven years, my neighbors, my room, and the people in my building who watched me grow through the main years of my childhood. We were now moving into a smaller apartment with one bedroom for three people, and I the oldest child and only girl.
Right away, I was stressed. I was angry at what I had to do, it seemed unfair. Why was I having to cook, clean, take care of my younger brother, and myself? My dad had to work extra hours to keep up with our rent. My relationships with my mother became worse, and I actually stopped talking to her for a while. I was on my own. My younger brother was lost in his own world; he couldn’t do a lot of work around the house. He was immature, and sometimes he didn’t even understand the stress I was going through and decided it was ok to bug me. Countless hours were spent in school, chores, cooking, and taking care of my brother every day. Sometimes I would cry, my dad felt bad, but I wouldn’t let him see me hurt. I understood he needed to work, and he would help out as much as possible.
Three months passed and I was working hard every day. I had many bad days, and one afternoon I wasn’t in the best mood. Although my brother knew what was wrong, he continuously tried to get on my nerves, irritating me, and we got into a fight. It was then I reached my breaking point. I began screaming, yelling, and crying. I screamed at him for not understanding, I was agitated and decided to go into the room by myself. I cried, and I cried, my heart racing fast, my mind all messed up. The question kept repeating in my mind, “Why did I have to do all the work?” Hours later, I began to calm down, and came to the realization that all my responsibilities were all taken from my mother, who did them every day, along with work. She had to be a wife, a mother, a co-worker, an adviser, a friend, a mentor, and many other things every day. I was doing just a few, and it was the heaviest burden, especially when my brother didn’t cooperate. I never thought of, what happened if I wasn’t helping my mother, what if she got screamed at by her boss, what if my parents weren’t getting along? She never was able to walk away like I did; she never was able to say no. I never said thanks for making dinner, or doing the laundry every time. Who showed her appreciation for her work?
My epiphany isn’t easy to understand. Often, we get caught up in our own life, no matter how much someone might be lending us a hand. It wasn’t easy on her to leave her family, and all the work she ever did was mostly unnoticed. I have yet to feel what it really means to be a mother, and that won’t happen until I actually do become one. But, I did realize just what a mother has to do, to keep her family happy. I realized the motherly role wasn’t as nearly as simple as it looks. I do understand what she does, and how difficult it can be, but I still have a long way to go to understand simply, what a mother is worth, and how behind all my success she is present. After all, “There’s a story behind everything…but behind all your stories is always your mother’s story…because hers is where yours begins.” – Mitch Albom,
