There she was, with her pale face and sad eyes looking at me. Her cold, thin hands were grasping my shoulders. She was bald with a pink bandana wrapped around her head.
As a ten-year-old, I wasn’t expected to understand the signs of my mom’s disease. Every day, I would wake up to the same routine; eat breakfast, go to school, go to the hospital, and come back home. However, it wasn’t in the comfort of my own house or the greetings of warm hugs. Instead, I was greeted by the emptiness and solitude. Why? I did not know. Did I question it? No. Did I go on as if nothing were different? Yes. However, I knew everything had changed. I found myself unable to grasp the idea that my mom was incapable of fully taking care of me. How was I, a ten-year-old,
As a ten-year-old, I wasn’t expected to understand the signs of my mom’s disease. Every day, I would wake up to the same routine; eat breakfast, go to school, go to the hospital, and come back home. However, it wasn’t in the comfort of my own house or the greetings of warm hugs. Instead, I was greeted by the emptiness and solitude. Why? I did not know. Did I question it? No. Did I go on as if nothing were different? Yes. However, I knew everything had changed. I found myself unable to grasp the idea that my mom was incapable of fully taking care of me. How was I, a ten-year-old,