Dear Diary

Day 15

Your relationship with your parents

Dear Diary,
                       Parents are supposed to be your shadow, not the ones that throw you under the blazing sunlight.

My parents, for the time that they were actually parents, were pretty amazing.

Before his death and drinking, my father was my best friend.
We used to talk about everything and anything, even if it was about a boy I had a crush on.

Every weekend, me and Luke would spend all of our time with our parents.

On Saturdays, I spent the day with dad and Luke spent the day with mom.

On Sundays, Luke spent the day with dad doing stupid manly stuff and me and mom would be home, cooking.

My dad always loved it when me and my mom cooked, not because of any sexist shit but because he believed that the taste in a woman's cooking could never be achieved by a man.
That it was unmatchable.

Me and Luke never thought the food was any different than what dad cooked but my father was positive that it was different.

Our Sundays were filled with board games and karaoke and eating.

On every Saturday, me and dad would spend most of the day in our garden and garage.

We planted more than half of the flowers that bloom in our garden.

After his death, even to this day, I spend my Saturday in our garden and take care of our plants as if they are my children.

Gardening is like a souvenir of my dad, and I never want to lose it.

Me and dad were always way closer than anyone else in our small family.

We could sit down and talk for hours and hours about dumb things like how dead people lived in stars, how they survived.

The funniest part is that he used to talk to me like he was actually curious about our chosen topic.

After dad lost his very stable job of 10 years, he kind of just let go.

And in front of my sinful eyes, I saw my handsome and thoughtful father descending into a raging alcoholic.
Starting from one glass a day to one bottle a day.

I was there to witness it all and I was there to beg him to come to the garden every Saturday.

I don't think I've ever told anyone this but the week before he died, I came back from school and he was sitting in the garden, petting our flowers.

I laughed and ran to him, hugging him from behind.
I distinctly remember that he smelled like alcohol and sweat, but I didn't care.

Turns out, he wants petting or adoring our flowers, he was leaning there because he was sick. Because he was throwing up.

The week following that, I was more mad than usual at him.

Then he just died, out of the blue.

Couldn't he just leave me something?
Couldn't he at least hug me back that day?

It makes me sad to think that the first thing that comes to my mind when I think of my father is not the word: my idol.
Because that surely is what it used to be.

As for my mom, we were never very close, Luke was actually closer to her.

I just want to know what went through my mother's mind when she first started drinking after dad's death.

Was it guilt? Regret? Instinct? Memories?

Apart from these shitty years, she was a fairly good mother.

She never forgot to ask me how my day went and I told her every single thing, she always listened intently.

When we cooked together, she talked like we were in a cooking show and that always made me giggle.
She always used to highlight me as the 'guest of the evening'.

She was always there to pick my dresses for a friend's birthday party and she was always there to make sure that I had the craziest and most beautiful hairstyle at the party.

She was a mom.
A complete and good mom.

About two months ago, I woke up in the morning to find my mom sitting in our kitchen, looking fairly sober.

"Good morning, honey" she said and I honestly dropped my glass on the ground.
I was too shocked.

Was she talking to me?
More importantly, was she sober?

"I know, it's hard to believe. But I want to talk" she patted the stool next to hers and I hesitantly sat down.
I quietly tried to pinch myself to wake up from this dream, but all in vain, this was, indeed, reality.

She took my hands in hers and I squeezed her hands, my eyes already glassy with tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry"
Unlike me, she wasn't hesitant to let her tears drop onto the kitchen counter.

"I don't want to leave you alone, you're just a kid. My kid. My kid, who I promised to protect" she continued and I just stared at her, still surprised and teary.

"I'm trying, Veronica. I'm really trying to get rid of all of this. And I promise you, I will" she squeezed my hand again.

"Yo- You're actually trying?" I somehow found my voice from inside my body.

"Yes. And my only request is" she took in a deep breathe, she looked as if she was going to ask me to bring her Mount Fiji.

And if Mount Fiji was what it was going to take to bring my mother back, then Mount Fiji she would get

"Forgive me" she looked at me and I sighed.

I got up and hugged her, she hugged me back.
Her hair smelled of strawberries, they smelled like my mother's hair.

I put my face on we shoulder and cried. With every sob, she hugged me tighter.

"I forgive you, mom. I really do. I just want you back" I choked out.

She held my face in her hands, planting a kiss on my forehead.
Her hands were so soft and her moisturizer smelled like jasmines, it smelled like my mom's moisturizer.

Then, at night, she was drunk again.
She was blabbering shit that was like hitting a nail on my head.

But I guess we can't blame everything on human beings.
Sometimes, more than often, wrong things happen to the wrong people at the wrong time.
And it just turns them rogue.
And sometimes, more than often, it's not a decision or even a choice, just an impulse.

I only wish that she could know that I will truly forgive her the day she stops drinking.
Maybe half of me has already forgiven her.