I believe in always believing in your hero.
Who is this hero of mine? That hero is my mother. She always made sure I brushed my teeth, and double checked for my red polka-dotted bow tucked neatly into my hair.
One thing about heroes is they always have a monster to stand up and to defeat. My mother’s monster was her addiction to drugs and alcohol.
My father couldn’t bear to see my sister and I watch our hero fall, while she tried to juggle her teaching job, her family, and fighting her monster. We decided to get away, and let her get the help we all believed she needed in rehab.
The grass was forest green, and felt so good between my sleepy toes. I remember that morning specifically. I was nine years old, and not at all ready to leave my beloved home in Randolph, Massachusetts. The sky was an awkward grey color, perfectly reflecting my sorrowed, droopy eyes. It was time to say goodbye to my dear mother.
The car ride was long and boring, but I distinctly remember kissing the stars goodnight on my way to dreamland. To my young and confused mind, my mom would be all better soon, and we would come back. It didn’t work out that way. Mom and dad needed to be a part for a lot of different reasons, and they would be.
When I think of heroes, I think of role models, soldiers and fighters. My mother was two out of the three options and that meant more to me than anything else. She wasn’t only a teacher to her students, but a teacher to me as well. There were lessons after lessons about life and how to treat people. I loved her cute, witty anecdotes like: you always catch more bees with honey rather than vinegar. Hearing her speak was like listening to a symphony; wise, subtle, and pleasing to the ear. She was always softly spoken, until something needed to be dramatized like a punishment or a forced flash of anger while she was under the influence. Even after a punishment my mom would come in my room twenty minutes later with my favorite ice cream and a kiss to dry my tears of anger.
She helped me learn to forgive and always stay true to the people I loved. That might be because of her addiction, but nevertheless I learned. She taught me to make the most delicious, fluffy chocolate chip pancakes I’ve ever tasted. She taught me to plant daises in the bright sun with a deep red mulch blanket.
My mom was my best friend and dealing with her addiction was heart-breaking. We would go through it together, because she needed me just as much as I needed her. She would never surrender to her monster, because of how much we loved each other.