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I am the middle child of four other siblings; a younger brother and sister, and two older brothers. Not only did the order of my birth and my gender play a large part in the attention I received as a child, but it seems that it has become a vital component in the reasons my siblings and I are no longer what I once referred to as family. In fact, in our lives, there is no family; just a mother, an estranged father, and brothers and sisters who live separate lives filled with hatred toward one another.

The worst part of all is that is it just fine with me.

Although there was a time, long ago, that I could never imagine being apart from these people; what has transpired within the last nine months has caused irreversible forgiveness. To me now, I have a genuine dedication to stay far, far away from those I once loved so very much. Blood, in my family, is not thicker then water: a statement many stand by while others know the opposite all too well.

What made our estrangement come into play is even more incomprehensible then the fact that it happened; our mother became ill, and five kids fell apart. However, it wasn't a situation where emotions killed relationships; it was negligence, greed, ignorance and selfishness that fed the fire toward destruction. I was the sturdy branch in a lonely pit; my siblings were the fuel that burned my soul. In the aftermath lay ashes, mine to be exact, and I gathered each particle in hopes that alone and without help, I would soon become whole again. Yet we all know that scars never truly heal, and forgiveness now is out of the question. Life for me and my family has taken a turn down a path that leads nowhere, and once lost inside, the weak find no way out. My strength alone was my savior; turning back I found the light of freedom and my siblings are still stuck in darkness forevermore.

Mom got cancer, but survived. Not once, but twice. Miracles, I now believe, do happen. They're not dished out to everyone, but mom was a lucky recipient and deserving as no other mother I know. Yet it wasn't the cancer that caused her demise into Hospice, it was hospital neglect; so her homecoming was not that of joy, but a time to prepare for the death of someone we were never prepared to let go of. Seven days from the time she arrived in her home was all they said she had left; nine months later she's still with us, but the "us" is a word I use to make her believe there still is such a thing.

Deep inside I think she knows the truth.

When my mother

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