For years I've wanted to put everything that has been said and done behind us. I mean, it's in the past right? I thought the wall I built between her and I would have tumbled down by now but as years pass, I feel it's indestructible. I grew up with my mom as a single parent. Although I barely remember her ever being "single." Men loved her long blonde hair, big hazel eyes and conversational skills but bolted at her lack of sensibility. I look back at our relationship and remember the good times. The days when she would come home from work and take me to the beach to watch me play in the sand. The days when she would look into my eyes and say, "I'm very proud of you." Or when she would embarrass the heck out of me by performing to songs off her favorite records. I adored my mother despite all the beating and name calling that took place growing up. These fiascoes were always a normal part of life to me. Bad boys deserve to get punched in the face by a strong woman with rings on every finger. Especially the one embedded with three hearts on top. Each heart represents her love for each one of her children. Everyone she met paid compliments to that ring but I never understood why they never noticed the red and purple imprint of it all over my face. Didn't it look nice on me too?

By the time I reached my high school years I learned to become immune to the hitting. Her words on the other hand always reached into the core of my soul. I always hoped she didn't mean what she said. I always blamed her behavior on the anti-depressants. Now that I'm older, I understand the reasons why things happened the way they did. My mother was afraid of being alone and for a long time I was afraid of being without her. In my late teens, we retaliated on each other's fears and indifference. We were completely unaware of the damage we were causing in each other's life. We were contaminating our hearts with our words. In many ways, I felt she was blinding me from ever admiring her. I never once doubted she loved me. I know she does with all her heart. Her life was a train wreck and despite everything she's been through, she was the best mom she knew how to be.

Over the years, she has been diagnosed a manic depressive and suffers from heart disease. She can't walk upright and requires a cane everywhere she goes. She's only 59 years old and still manages to look good. However, misery loves company. She doesn't want to get better and feeds off of people's sympathy. She is enriched by her ailments. I learned this at a very young age.

Soon after I graduated high school I made a conscience, yet painful decision to detach myself from that negative energy. At that point, I began the process of accepting her as well as forgiving her. I have a letter that I will mail to my mom someday telling her my story. I feel the letter will seal the deal on my end. Writing it has been relatively easy. Dropping it in the mailbox has been a whole other show.

Learn more about this author, Danny Garcia.
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