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“Don’t worry mom,”
I said
with as much confidence
as a young boy could muster,
“I’ll collect money from my paper route
ok,
don’t worry mom, don’t worry!”
I hated to see my mother cry,
tears streaming between fingers
like water through cracks in a dam
about to burst,
hands
prematurely worn and aged
by diligent housewife duties
and too much stress.
I detested seeing my younger brothers and sisters
go hungry
because of my drunken father’s neglect
for those he claimed to love.
It’s no wonder mom lost her mind
after all she experienced;
the beatings by my father, 
seeing her children without food
more often than they deserved
and the man she once loved
preferring the company and affection
of another woman.
It wasn’t long before mom retreated
into a world that only she and a few
pharmaceutically liberal Psychiatrists knew of.
I’d like to think that 
my siblings and I are stronger
for having endured those
trials,  
I mean, after all
we are still alive,
and who knows but God,
why my father self destructed  like that.
In the end
he said he was sorry
and that he loved us.
As for my mother?
well, 
there are only so many pills
and shock treatments a human can stand.
Rest well
sweet Mother and  Father.
I’ve learned a lot about-forgiveness.

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