Tag Archives: Mother

Day 5

US Navy 100423-N-0641S-143 Mara MacDonald demo...

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A letter to the one who hurt me the most in 2010.

Dear Ellie,

You need to stop. Just stop. I am 17 years old. You are more then twice that. So why do I always end having to be the adult? Why am I not allowed to go out with my friends, but you’re allowed to come home two hours late, and it’s no big deal? I am sick of raising my sisters. Instead of yelling at me when they don’t get places on time, why don’t you try being a parent for once, and drive them? Instead of going and having a day of goofing off by yourself, why don’t you just stay home, and watch a movie with us? I’m tired of being the one everyone relies on! Everyone else slacks off, and I’m left being the support. Well, maybe once, just once, I want to go and do something normal, like sleep over at a friend’s house, or go to the movies with a friend. But no. It’s considered a crime for me to be the one slacking off. Why don’t I get to do any of the things I should? I’m a perfectly nice kid, i think. I don’t smoke, drink, or have sex. The worst thing i’ve ever done is come home a little later then planned from prom. But while I am forced to stay home, and babysit a kid who’d rather be left alone, you let my sister, who always was the worst one of us, by the way, roam around, hanging out at the park with one other girl, and three boys. Her, who wants those grossly huge ear holes, and purple hair!!!

So, if you’re wondering why after 9 years, I don’t call you ‘mom’, or anything, this is why. You can’t be considered a mom if you do nothing to earn the fact. You didn’t give birth to me, you didn’t raise me, and you don’t love me unconditionally. In return, I withhold that title that my sisters gave to you freely. I know better. You will never, ever be my mother.

Amber McLain



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The Anniversary

A mother goose shading her young from the rain...

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It is, as of today, nine years since I saw my mom last. Depressing? Not really. I’ve learned to not focus on the negative feelings I have about her leaving me with the worst possible candidate, but on the things that make me love her still and want to make her proud. All anyone seems to remember about her is the crazy woman who never was any good at anything, the teenager who got preggers before she should have. They can’t remember the mom who stayed up all night when I was six to make me both a cake and cupcakes for my sixth birthday, so that all my friends could have a cupcake, but I didn’t have to blow the candles out and get spit all over them. The mom who stormed into the school and had a shouting match with the principle when my teacher told me there was no Santa. Who would read me poetry, and kept me out of school so we could spend the day making ornaments. That is who I remember, and that is who I love. I can’t focus only on the woman who left us with no stable parental figure, or who was convinced she was a witch, and tried to ‘train’ me. Some people get to spend their whole lives with a loving mother. Sure, mine was crazy, and more likely to take me to an adult bookstore, then go to a PTA meeting, sure she would leave us alone at home for hours at a time, or punish us for weird things, but I think she was the best mom I could have asked for. I’d take a flaky witch over the clingy loser I have now, any day.


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