Floating to Falling

Prologue

2 years after he left

My mama used to tell me that the act of being in love is like that of falling, hence the term falling in love. You've heard it, we all have. We've grown up knowing the too-often told, hackneyed stories of winsome princesses falling in love with charming princes. Though, what we never dared to think of, was what came after the "The end". Being the naive children we were, we truly believed they did share a happily ever after. But, like a slap to the face, I discovered there is simply no such thing, at least, not for my mama. Perhaps we often say that love is like falling because it truly is a rush, thrilling in a way, an experience that is sure to take your breath away. But you know what? There is an indubitable truth of always crashing, that moment of pure surprise when you hit the ground, the agonizing pain that follows after. And you know what else? The longer you fall the harder you hit.

My mother had fallen in love with my father.

And Heaven knows it hurt when she hit the ground and he wasn't there to catch her. Mama used to tell me that before I could love another person, I needed to learn to love myself. She used to believe this with all her heart. Though, because of his absence, she felt at fault, and she hated herself for it. We were a normal family, the kind of family you see happily playing together at the park. The type of family that all joined hands for prayer before a home cooked dinner. My father and mother used to softly sing lullabies to me before kissing me goodnight, they used to walk me to school, one of my small chubby hands intertwined with mothers long thin fingers, and the other atop of one of fathers rough callused hands. For at least a little while, during those blissful days before everything started to go horribly wrong, my mother would tell me that love wasn't like that of falling, but that it was like that of floating.