As a child, my parents would always be gone for days on work trips across the country. That was just my way of life. There was three rules for every trip, one spoken, one unspoken, and one tradition. The spoken rule was to never leave us kids without one parent home with us. the unspoken rule or competition as I thought of it was always, ALWAYS have the house looking cleaner than when your spouse left (though usually it was us kids who were the ones forced to clean up). Our one tradition was to bring a present home from when they had traveled to.
And it was fine this way, until after years and years of this system, I had gotten used to it. Both my parents absecne and all the presents that had started to clutter my room.
And I broke.
At 13 year old I had a mental break down. I shut myself off from my parents and started to stay in my room more (it was the only place I felt relaxed). This went on for almost two weeks when my mom finally came into my room lugging a large blue bin behind her. She gently place it on my bed and popped off the top.
Inside was my life. Objects from my first memories such as my pumpkin halloween costumre and photos from even ealier than that. Uniforms from my three years I had gone to a Catholic school when I was young, to stuffed animal that smelled so familiar yet unreckognizeable.
"I can;t say I know what your feeling," my mom spoke,"but please know we both love you." I could tell she was trying to hold back the tears in her shakey voice.
So I cried for her, knowing that I hadn't thought of my parents and jumped to conclusions that they wouldn't care if I wasn't around. I in a way understood they even if they weren't with me physically I was always be on their mind. That's why they bought persents, not because they felt a sence of guilt but because they'd miss me.
This is a thought that has stayed with me since. I was luckier than I thought, my parents love for me was astonishing and I can't believe I had taken me so long to realize it. No matter how far the distance their love was more.
