a little girl

I still remember you know. I remember that day as if it were happening again this morning. I could re-enact you everything because I remember every detail of that day, the day you finally left us. It wasn’t a surprise though. But I really wish you would have left earlier. Because then, I probably wouldn’t remember this day. The day my life would change forever. It was an awfully beautiful Sunday morning. Beautiful because I was awaken to the sweet aroma of moms famous pancakes, yet so awful because we all knew today was the day you’d walk out on us forever. I don’t know how mom even had it in her to wake up and make pancakes after such a night. But that’s another poem. The night before was one of the worst fights I ever had to listen to. Instead of counting sheep I counted how many times my brother would beg you to stop. I wasn’t like most kids. I didn’t listen to lullabies; my “lullaby” was Mom crying, you screaming at the top of your lungs until you just couldn’t anymore. And to think, all I wanted to do was sleep; to drift to a place where none of this madness of my reality would haunt me. Maybe that was just too much to ask. But maybe not. I slipped into my footsie pyjamas and grabbed my favourite blanket, before heading downstairs. And there you were. Tall and handsome. Standing as strong as you always did. You already had your coat on, and sported a suitcase in each hand. All packed and ready to go. To escape your madness. Your madness that would ironically cause mine. You hugged your son, and kissed my forehead. Before walking out forever, you shot mom just one last look of disgust, and then you left. And that was it, it was the last time I ever saw you. No words were even spoken that day you left. Actually, we haven’t ever spoken of that day. Why? Because none of that ever happened in my childhood. No, my childhood was a beautiful one.