My mother always told me,
"Amanda, when you grow older you will understand what I go through."
I laughed at her a response,
"When I grow older? You must be talking to the person behind me."
I walked out of her bedroom and down the hallways.
Out the front door and was 22.
Standing there with a cigarette in my hand a three year old holding on to the other.
Car keys in my mouth while searching my pockets for those same keys.
I was older, and I understood.
I looked back at my mother tired yet smiling nodding her head.
I understood what she told me that one day sitting on the edge of her bed.
She had been through hell through pain through three kids and an unfaithful husband.
She had been through fights, fits, and jobs that treated her like a slave.
She had been through heartbreak and triumph and nights that she laid in bed trying to sleep but not being able to find the right position for her troubles and aches and pains.
I understood what my mother had been through and was going through now.
She, all though gets under my skin and makes me want to push needles through my eyes, was my hero.
Through all this **** that has made me crazy in just three years had made her stronger and more aware.