Rhiannon

chapter 4-

A child is such a delicate gift,

they have endless positivity flowing through their little veins.

I will refrain; delicate.

Children can be the most greatest souls, but the moment a tragedy happens in their lives-

they shatter.

Just like a vase falling on a cold hard floor- it shatters in a thousand pieces. 

I guess thats the best way to describe my grim childhood.

-

Brooklyn, New York

December 26th, 1982

 I, Rhiannon Frances-LoMia was born to two young adults, Sharon Wilston and Frank LoMia.

My parents both lived in trash, surrounded by drug attics, alcoholics and the depressed and wicked hearted. But they were used to the constant filth and negative vibes flowing through the ghetto apartment complex they both lived in.

My mom was apparently a beautiful, young blonde with a tough but somewhat-positive attitude. 

Oh, how I wish I met her.

The thing I loved about my parents is that they found each other in the most darkest times of their rushed lives. They both found happiness in eachother that no soul in Brooklyn would ever find. They were in love.

But falling in love could be the most worse mistake you can ever make in your whole entire life.

The more you get attached, the more breakable you are.

The moment my mother found out she was having me, she became depressed. She always thought her life was over now she has her own child, her own creation of delicate life. My father wanted her to stay, so he just nodded his head and agreed to whatever she said. 

They both agreed on a abortion.

My dad was willing to do anything in order to make her stay. She was his life, love, and happiness. She was the reason why he smiled every morning, she was the reason why happiness exists in his life.

She brought a ray on sunshine onto my fathers life. My dad grew up in a tough italian household with an abusive father and a mother that worked 24/7. His life was quite screwed up. He started doing drugs at a young age-13. He became an alcoholic at 15, and depressed at 18. His family didn care at all about him. "My life will always be as fucked up as me", my father always said to himself.

Until he met my mother; Sharon.

It was love at first sight. They met each other at a illegal bar in a basement of a another shitty Brooklyn apartment complex. 

They started seeing eachother, more and more. They eventually got a small place for them. It was crappy, but they were they most happiest people in the world.

My dad quit drugs and became sober for 2 years thanks to my mother. She gave him the love he wanted; and he gave her the love she wanted. It was perfect.

But perfection doesn't last long.

They never wanted me. They wanted a abortion. 

My mom went crazy, she became a totally different person once she knew about her pregnancy. She started abusing my father, throwing plates, forks- well anything she could find laying around the small apartment.

My dad was seriously hurt-emotionally and physically. But, since he met her, he developed a soft-kind loving heart of gold. He couldn't hurt her. He couldn't hurt a fly.

My mom calmed down after awhile. She thought a lot. My dad and her spent less time together. 

She had a change of heart.

She decided she wanted to keep me.

Of coarse, my dad agreed with her. They went on with life. They were once again happy, like they were when they first met.

Then the day came.

My mom was constantly overdosing on medical drugs behind my fathers back. She became constantly unstable and drowsy. 

The contractions began, my father rushed her to the hospital.

It was a whole night of pain and hatred. My mother hated my father once again. She woke up from all those drugs and realized what she got herself into. 

Eventually, after all the pain, I came along into the world.

My mom couldnt even look at me. She threw my little delicate body to my father. My father on the inside was happy that he now has his own little baby girl. But on the top of his worries was the love of his life,Sharon.

Night fell onto New York once again, and right before my mother fell asleep, she told my father;

" I'm leaving. I can't take this. You did this to me, you ruined my life. Fuck you."

My father cried his eyes out all night-with my little body in his arms. He thought his life was over also. He refrained the thought he always said throughout his life before Sharon, "My life is as fucked up as I am."

The next morning, she was gone. She ripped off all the viles and wires stuck to skinny body. She took money from his wallet, and ripped the picture of them my dad always kept in his wallet.

My dad was once again depressed. He was considering giving me up for adoption. He didnt know what to do with is messed up life.

I don't blame him, I wouldn't know what to do either.