The love of a mother that I never understood. The love of a
father that had too many moral rules to follow to deserve it. The love of a
selfish sister who thought I invade her space the minute I arrived to her life.
The love of a mother who had among her priorities her own brothers and sisters.
We as her children were never her priority in her lives list. We were supposed
to understand that in her passed life she had suffered the premature death of
her parents and therefore we were obliged to comprehend her love as it was and
not to judge or claim for more than what she was capable of giving us. I
remembered that I was never supposed to ask her for more. I believed what my
father intended me to comprehend was that she was incapable of loving me more.
I was naive to think mothers should do love more their own
flesh and blood. My hope kept telling me that my Dad was mistaken. But now I
come to realize that in my hope I was wrong.
My mother was fifteen when she lost her mother and then she was around 22 when she lost her father. By then she had two daughters, my sister and me. She was at her self-center when she lost my grandmother. She was a teenager dealing with too many emotional issues. Then she found my Dad who was too good to let her by herself in so much pain after the lost of her mother. So they became sweethearts they got pregnant and by the time she was 17 she had to raise a baby girl pay for a living and be married to an amazing handsome and very young gay, my father.
I know everything was too fast. 3 years later they had another child. By the way I kicked they thought I was going to be a boy. But I gave them the surprise of their lives they were going to have another girl. So much different from the first that I made them paid for all they did to their own parents when they were younger. I cried all the time, I jumped into my mothers and fathers head all the time and by three I kept crying, peeing and yelling at them because well let's face it they couldn't understand what I wanted. Apparently neither do I .
