A sorrowful women: The son's point of view

A Sorrowful Woman: The son’s point of view.

By: Jocelyn Reynolds

 

                My life with my mommy and daddy were perfect until one day before bed time. Mommy always tucked me in however; this night was different because my daddy had filled her position. He read me a lovely story about monkeys and I fell peacefully asleep.

                The following night was a bit stranger. I gazed at my mother in amazement and understanding, although I had no sense of understanding her at all. My mother busted out in tears and daddy came running to the rescue. Daddy used his big strong arms and packed mommy to the comfort of her bed. Daddy tucked me tightly into bed again after placing clean pajamas on my body.

                The next day was Sunday and I did not get to see mommy the whole evening. Then the same time like always my bed time routine took place. As I awoke I noticed mommy had decided to get out of bed. I could not control my excitement so I decided to show her my affection by following her around like a tiger. As I went to brace my mother’s arm I accidently cut her with my sharp finger nails. I have never seen my mother’s eyes look so intense and frightened. She yelled “Go Away” and locked herself in a room until my dad came home. Once again he became her hero.

                A few days had passed and things stayed the same. Then after dinner I felt the stinging pain of the back of my mother’s hand. I cried from shock and hurt feelings. I could not believe my loving mother had turned into an abusive monster. I ran away and hide before she could think about snapping at me again.

                My daddy decided to hire a built in babysitter. She made me feel the way I used to before my mother changed. I felt an inner happiness because I knew with my babysitter I was safe. She brought me in to see my mom around two times a day. One afternoon my babysitter let me bring my mommy a present. It was a little grasshopper I found leaping in the grass. As I handed her my gift she yelled and threw the grasshopper out of her hands. I did not understand why my mother had become so angry. She took the only mother figure I had left and kicked her out the door the next day.

                After my dad picked me up from school he made dinner like always and put me to bed. I did not know what was going wrong with my family but I knew things would never be the same between my mother and I. My daddy fell asleep in my bed as he was tucking me in; I reluctantly knocked on my mother’s door and hoped to be greeted with loving arms. Instead I was scooted out the door by a cold comatose woman called my mother.

                I loved my mommy even though she acted distant. I forgave her for her actions and hoped everyday my mommy would be back to normal. I went in with my dad and gave her a wet kiss on the lips. After that moment I could not see my mommy anymore. I drew her pictures and slid them under her door every evening. Mommy cooked a loaf of bread and had it waiting on us as we came home. We happily slid our notes under the door hoping for her mental return.

                I came home to find five loaves of warm bread, a roast stuffed turkey, a glazed ham, three pies of different fillings, eight molds of the boy's favorite custard, two weeks supply of fresh-laundered sheets and shirts and towels, two hand-knitted sweaters (both of the same grey color), a sheath of marvelous watercolor beasts accompanied by mad and fanciful stories nobody could ever make up again, and a tablet full of love sonnets for my daddy. I smelled the sweet aroma and ran straight into my mommy’s room. She was in her bed with her eyes closed. I told daddy mommy was sleeping because she was tired of doing all of our things again. All I could think about was how satisfying the turkey would be for supper.