I was rereading an old journal from last year the other day, and there is this flap in the back of the book where I had stuffed old letters and random things in. I noticed an envelope that had my mom's handwriting on it and remembered immediately that around this time last year, my family and I were in denial about the true state of her health, mentally and physically. This envelope mom had given me last summer held a single sheet of paper with a bunch of signatures on it, looking all official, stating what she wants us to do with her life if she were ever fall into a state of unconscious where it was unclear if she would ever recover.
Yeah. It's a copy of her will.
I like to think that things are better now and that my hopeful optimistic attitude is not just another fantasy layer of denial that I've trapped myself in.
I know there are always other people out there who have it harder, but sometimes, I wish my family life could be just much more simpler. I have a handful of friends I'm jealous of whose family life is relatively happier and their problems are ordinary. Relationships, school, etc. Typical and simple.
Nothing about accepting the responsibility of putting a younger brother and sister through school so that they could have the same opportunities I did, or working like a second mom to cover for what the real mom couldn't, or foregoing the search for something or someone out there while young and fresh. I'm pretty sure I'll be spending my twenties living like I'm in my forties; doing everything I can to keep a family afloat. I just hope it's worth it.
Maybe I'm complaining too much in defense for my artistic soul, but it seems to be more difficult for me to find a true voice without having some aspect of my family life pay dearly for it. Not fair much?
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