“Anywhere. You could careless anyway,” I stated.
“You know I love you, and in the long run you will understand why I have to do this,” she replied.
“Understand what? I just lost my kids and now you’re just leaving me on the streets to just figure it out?” I shouted.
“You have to learn to fall before you can get back up,” my mother replied softly.
“Whatever, you just hate me,” I muttered.
At that time I hated her. I couldn’t understand how she could drop us off on the street and leave without worrying about us one bit. I didn’t understand that this was tough love.
We asked my mother to drop us off in a nearby parking lot. So we were left and told that we were loved.
Although my husband’s family was furious with him for losing our boys, they gave him a place to stay. However, I wasn’t welcome. He chose to go, and I was abandoned to forage for myself. I was lost, it was cold. I had no one but my drug dealer “friends.” No food, no shower, no warmth, and I had to beg. I would sit with my luggage in any warm area I could find with only my thoughts for company. I hated my life and needed to fix it.
I called my mother and told her I was ready and it was time. I couldn’t handle being away from my children any longer. My best friend came to pick me up and allowed me to stay in her home until my mother was off work. Then my mother took me to a hospital where I was admitted into the psychiatric ward. I spent my Thanksgiving there.
This story will be continued tomorrow, January 26.
Former Open Door Mission Resident
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