My Mother hated grocery shopping.
Well, maybe she just hated grocery shopping with us.
Honestly, we hated it too, my Brother especially, and we always managed to find trouble.
We were too big for the cart, which meant we had to walk around with her.
And it was hard.
Too many tempting things to touch and horsing around to do.
Especially while she searched the shelves, shuffled coupons, and checked things off her list.
If we stopped watching...
...she'd leave and hide around the corner.
When we noticed her absence,
we'd panic and cry.
Once we were hysterical enough, she'd come back.
"Where did you go?" We'd ask.
Her, "You should be paying attention."
Eyes always on her.
YOU ARE READING
What My Mother Forgot
Non-FictionBefore reading this, you should know... This is not a happy story. There is no happy ending. Simply put, this is a chronological account of the abuse, neglect, and bullying I suffered at the hands of loved ones from birth to 17 years old. It does no...
