The Story Of My Life : A Short Story

"My mother and I are estranged, have been for years. My father died when I was young," Mary Alice said.

My great-grandmother was the matriarch of my family. When I was in seventh grade, around thirteen years old, she passed away due to breast cancer. This misfortune created an extremely difficult time for me because, not only was I adjusting to the environment of junior high, but many other issues were occurring in my life; this was the third death that I was having to deal with. Unfortunately, one of the previous deaths (that I was still trying to hurdle through and come to terms with), had occurred almost exactly a year before the passing of my great-grandmother. The second death that I had gone through occurred only one or two months before my great-grandma has passed. All of this turmoil created numerous internal conflicts for me, but also taught me a key lesson to keep note of, for the rest of my life.

“I know I have said this already,” he sniffs, “but you are just like your mom. She would do anything she could to make things right. She hated to see people hurting. When her dad died, your grandfather, she came to me. After that, I became

When I got back home, my mother was still awake, waiting on me to get back home, it was almost three in the morning. She asked, “ where were you?”

“My father killed my mother,” he says eventually. It’s horribly casual, the way the words tumble out of his mouth, but he can’t think of any other way to say them.

My mother is a sweetheart. She is known for her little giggles even when she is just talking casually with someone. She is light skinned, brown curly hair and brown eyes and talks very softly. Sometimes she is so soft spoken that I hardly hear what she is saying. It’s a family laugh when no one can hear what she is trying to say. I sincerely thank my mother for all that she has done for not only myself, but for my two brothers. She is very often complimented for raising, “such great boys”, as many would

“Val, I couldn’t - I’m so sorry. Please, just let me explain!” I begged her, tears stung my eyes. SMACK. My head snapped to the side, my cheek burned from the impact.

My mom leaned over the console, rubbing her hands together, trying to make herself understood. “Kristin I never said it wasn’t his fault! I’m just saying that-”

“Ashlyn,” my mother walked over and pulled me into a hug, “You know that you aren’t a burden to us. We love you so much and we just want to keep you healthy. I know that you are scared of causing sadness but we can handle it, as long as you are alive and happy.” She gave me a reassuring smile as my father put hand on top of mine.

“Stop… please don’t hurt my mom I’m begging you.” My head facing the ground as I shook with fear.

“I know. She was more than a grandmother to me. She was a mother and father too after the ordeal took place with you. She stepped in like Wonder Woman and took care of me.”

He handed her a tissue, and she wiped her cheeks then blew her nose, and continued, “The past three weeks had been amazing, until his mother returned home from vacation. She has ruined our lives.”

The summer was starting and my mother was getting sicker by the day. My summer job was grounds keeping at a golf course from five-thirty in the morning until two in the afternoon. During my lunch breaks, I would drive home and eat lunch with my mom. I would always be a couple of minutes late coming back but it was well worth it. Since my mom was not doing well the doctors said she could not go on a trip to Atlanta to see her first niece get married. For twenty-six years she looked forward to seeing her dead brother’s daughter’s wedding. Needless to say she was heartbroken.

It was a bone chilling January night; my mom received a call at about 11:15 PM, a call that changed my life forever. My Aunt June was on the other line. She was crying so hard my mother could barely understand her. Through the sobbing my mom finally understood that Brian, my cousin, had been in a horrible accident and she didn’t know how bad it was. My mother jumped out of the bed after she hung up the phone. She screamed up the stairs at my sister and me; it was a nerve shrilling scream. I could hear fear in her voice. My mom was always yelling at us growing up if we forgot to do something. She would even get us out of bed to finish something that wasn’t done completely. This particular

I always knew that one day, my worst fear would be realized....yet when it did come, I was no where near ready to accept it.