The history of Prosperous Snow written for the group Reminiscences
Someone Who Left
There have been so many who have left. How do I choose which one to write about. The first person who left was my father. He left us even before the divorce. He left for bottles of beer, one right after another until he came home drunk. What was so bad in his life, that he had to drown the memory in beer? One thing I am sure of, he did not drink because of my mother, my siblings, or myself.
He left us--Mom, my siblings, and myself--because of a disease. He left me with a thousand questions. He left me to sort out the memories; some good, some bad, some neither, and some both good and bad. He left me--I was not the only one he left. I do not know how Daddy's leaving effected my brothers, my sister, or my mother. I only know how it effected me.
To Gloria King
Breath of reality
Poet's Note: ▼