I glance around at everyone confidently breezing through the handout, so sure of their responses. I complete the first portion with ease, filling out my extra curricular activities and grades in prerequisite courses. "Question 3: Is there anything I should know about you?" My brain is overwhelmed with thousands of things that I do not even attempt to fit on the tiny pair of lines allotted for my answer. I routinely strike out the portion labeled "Mother's Information," and squeeze "grandmother" in the margin.
I finish early, and estimate a few minutes of quality daydreaming ahead of me. I open a book as to appear to be reading, and allow my mind to drift far beyond the boundaries of my cold and painfully quiet classroom. Time rewinds and I'm transported to a familiar setting. I am perched on the back of my couch, and my cheek is numbed by the coldness of the window as I wait for my mother. The day is fleeting and I am told it is time to go to sleep. I am embarrassed for thinking it would be different this time, but my gut tells me "just a few more minutes." I wake up to my worst enemy: the flashing red light on the voicemail. That was her signature.
My escape is short lived. The last of my classmates have turned in their papers. I make an effort to join my class in the reading of Beowulf, but I cannot stay focused. My mind is consumed by the flashback. How had it been so easy for the rest of the family to give up on her, and why wouldn't my heart let me?
My mother's addiction had ripped my family to shreds. I hated her disease, but I could not hate her. My love for her was more powerful than any drug. I promised myself that I would fight for her despite my family's disapproval. I was not going to let our relationship fall victim to her addiction along with so much else.
The past eighteen years have been a roller coaster ride, but I have no intention of getting off. This summer, after one of my mother's worst relapses, her chances of survival were deemed doubtful. I spent my summer believing it would be my last with my mother, and her recovery was nothing short of a miracle. God gave her a second chance the way I had countless times. On the six month anniversary of her sobriety, she credited me with giving her the power to get sober in her Alcoholics Anonymous lead. She asked me how I stood behind her all those years and finally, I realized why. I will always have faith in the people I love, and I will always have faith in myself. I am more powerful than my circumstances, and I will not let them define me.
I used to think my inability to let go of my mother was my biggest weaknesses, but I have learned it is quite the opposite. It is said that the greatest strength is the power to keep fighting when everyone would understand if you gave up. This is the strength my mother has given me.
This essay has a powerful message. I felt like it was kinda short, but what do I know. " My mother's addiction ripped my family to shreds. " seems to put alot of blame on your mother, maybe changing that phrase would make the essay much better.
