Two years ago, my mom died and I was there when it happened. I don't open up to people about it, but I think it's about time to get some feelings out I've been keeping inside for the years she's been gone.
I was fifteen when she died. She was my whole world, we would go out for pasta every Thursday after school, she would take me shopping when I wanted something new that was in, she was the best mom anyone could ever wish for.
I remember two days before she passed, we got into a fight. She didn't like the boy I was seeing at the time, and told me he was bad news. Then she told me I could never see him again. A few vases were broken we threw things at each other and neither of us could stop crying. I remember the words that I said before I slammed my door shut. I yelled "I hate you."
Looking back on it, I would have given up everything to be able to take those words back. On the day of her death she went to the bathroom, a short bit after she was in, she had a heart attack and passed. Nobody saw it coming. Not me, not my dad, not my brother, not even her.
I never said goodbye, I never said I love you, when she died we weren't on speaking terms. The last thing I said to her was "I hate you." and I hate myself more than anyone else for saying it. My own mother died thinking that I hated her. I can't imagine how much that had burned her.
The boy soon began to become a jerk, he'd tell me what to do, and flat out use me. A side of him that I didn't know came out and soon after we broke up. My mom was right all along. She always had been. I took everything I got from her for granted.
Oh my god, I'd return everything. My clothes, my jewelry, my car, everything to get one hug from her. I wish I didn't learn so late. I have to stop this journal before my dad thinks something's wrong when he walks into my room. Thank you for listening. Have a nice night.
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