The Change

Never The Same

We stopped in front of my house, and I got out reluctantly, standing in front of the place where I grew up. In a weird, twisted way, I didn’t want to leave it. The memories were far and few in between. The good ones consisted of pizza parties and karaoke in the living room. We would dance and pretend our hairbrushes were microphones. She loved country and country reminded me of her whenever I heard it.

I asked for pizza on my birthday until I was 13 years old because I could count on her to be there on my birthday. My birthday was special because I saw her all day long. She didn’t get drunk on that day. The only day. I wish I could go back and thank her for everything she taught me. I didn’t like her most of the time, but I loved her. She was my mom.

As I stood in the middle of my bedroom and packed up my belongings with Veronica’s help, tears rolled down my face. It’s all going to be gone. Everything we used to be, packed away in boxes, my only family for as long as I’ve lived. I had never met my father. Wherever he is right now, he’s better off staying away. He never bothered to try to be in her life or mine, and it hurt, but I’ll never forgive him now that my mom died. I dropped the tote in my grasp as the sobs finally escaped my lips, falling into her willing arms. She held me like I hadn’t been held before, and I clung tighter to her body.

“It’s alright, love. Let it out.” The social worker whispered. At some point in time, we were sitting on the floor, my arms around Veronica’s back as she kept me close. Closer than anyone had ever held me, almost as safe as if she was supposed to be a maternal figure of some sort. It was like a cocoon of warmth that began to calm my emotions, something that I wasn’t used to. But, as I calmed down, and she rubbed my back, I relaxed under her gentle touch.

Everything I wanted to keep went in the back of Veronica’s sedan, including photos and birthday CD’s, my mom’s old iPod, jewelry, a stuffed bunny I slept with as a baby, a recipe book, and perfume that my mom always wore. I sat in the passenger seat once more, buckling up, holding the bunny under my arm. I still didn’t say a word as we pulled away from my house. Eyes glued to the life I had, which was slowly disappearing from my view in the window.

“Will change always be this hard?” I asked almost absently in a soft tone.

“I’m afraid it will. But every day, it gets a little better.” She said surely, then glanced at me softly, “And nobody can take away your mother’s memory, okay?”

I slowly nodded, a lone tear sliding down my puffy cheek. “Okay.” I clutched my bunny to my chest as I sniffled, hoping this new chapter would be better than the last.