It had been eleven years .
Eleven years since I last saw her.
Her constant incarcerations had me living with my grandmother for the first seven years of my existence.
I remember the nights, years ago, when she would wake me up late and talk with her favorite son.
I remember when she would steal money from us and disappear for months.
The yelling, the violence.
I remember it all.
I remember never having a father.
I know no names, no face, and I don't worry about it anyway.
My grandmother died, and my mother was not there.
Foster care pulled me into it's corrupt embrace, and for eleven years my life knew no stability.
Growing up with no parents, authority figures being those I lived with for a few days at a time.
I grew bitter, resentful, vindictive...
But a mother is a mother...
I saw her recently. I requested it. I put aside all hatred that had grown for her, and I wished to once more see the woman who had given to me the stain of life.
I looked back at the good times, however few there were.
I met with her, and she cried.
All she could say was "I love you"
Then she disappeared the next day.
She died later that month.
Her last words to me were "Oh, honey..."
Goodbye mother. I never got the chance to say that to you.
I hope that one day, I can love you too.