Remembering

I remember the days when my father would return home after days of being gone, smelling of smoke alcohol and something that stung when I inhaled it. I remember the screams of my mother as his unknowing hand was cast upon her by the force of something else. For when he came back he was terrified of what he had done and returned to the life of drugs to escape his feeling of disgust for himself. I forgive him for I know what it is like to lose control and understand the unbearable weight upon him. Others might not ever forgive him. My sister to this day does not speak of or to him for fear of getting comfort at his availability then him leaving again for his life of influences. I question my forgiveness everyday, perhaps I had been to young when it happened to even take the full grasp of the situation. In forgiveness of him I find myself feeling terrible for the people his habits have effected like my mother and my half sister's mother. I remember those days, well.