I was fourteen when I witnessed my mother become an alcoholic. She fell from grace to disgrace. I blamed my father for everything. This is why. My dad worked as a news castor. He was very educated so people held him in high regard. That’s why I was angry when I heard that my mother was fourteen when he impregnated her. He is thirty-five years older than her so do the calculation. He was forty-nine when this happened.

When she got pregnant, her family gave her to him to marry. My poor mother was forced into adulthood at that tender age. While her age mates were being silly teenage girls, she was nursing a baby and playing wife to a man old enough to be her father. She didn’t have a life for herself.

At some point, she left to go and live her life. We didn’t know where she went but she always sent us items. She sent word that she was selling sachet water and charcoal. We missed her but we took comfort in the gifts she sent us. After some time, my dad brought her back. We were all happy. She looked so good and at peace with herself when she returned. It appeared living life on her own terms made her happy.

I can’t recall exactly what happened that made her start drinking after she came back. It wasn’t the kind of drunkenness that could be hidden. She would go out and roam the streets. She became a laughingstock. The neighbourhood drunk. I was ashamed of her. There was a woman who lived close to us. We ran errands for her, and in return, she fed us. We were not related by blood but we took her as our aunt. At a point, we even spent nights with her. I visited my mum once in a while to fetch water for her.

One day my mum came to visit me at our aunt’s house. She greeted the woman and thanked her for taking care of me. When she left my aunt told me, “Your mother is a witch. God is punishing her for her sins. That’s why she is like that. I don’t want you to go to her again.” I respected her more than my mother so I listened to her. I began to resent my mother more. There was even a time when I pushed her.

As time passed, my mother’s addiction got worse. My schoolmates would see her and mock me. Everywhere she went, she caused a scene. Everybody knew her as an addict. I was tired of her and all the problems she caused. I even prayed that God would take her away so everything would be over.

One day, a friend came to tell me my mum was unwell. I acted as if I didn’t care but deep down I wanted to see her. I quickly ran home and told my aunt, “Mum is sick. I want to go and see her.” She told me not to bother.

The next day I went to see her anyway. When I saw her, I knew in my spirit that she was dying. There was no one with her. The moment she saw my face she burst into tears. I hugged her as we both wept. “Oh Adwoa,” she mumbled weakly, “Give me some water.” I gave her the water. She then held on to my school uniform tightly and made a strange sound. She died in my arms.

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I felt numb all of a sudden. I knew my heart was broken but I couldn’t feel it. I rushed out to call anyone I could find. While I was running, I kept thanking God for giving her peace. The torture of her addiction was just too much for her and us. She was buried the next day. And I moved on with my life as if I hadn’t just lost the most precious thing to my heart. All of this happened while I was still a child.

Now that I am grown, I despise myself for the way I treated my mother. I shouldn’t have abandoned her. I should have stayed by her side and taken care of her. There was no one to instruct me or guide me. The only other adult present was my aunt. That’s why I am angry at her as well as myself. I was a child but what’s her excuse? She knew better. If she had advised me to stay close to my mum, I would have done it. I wouldn’t have had this much regret.

I Discovered He Had Another Woman But I Couldn’t Leave Him

Memories of the past have been creeping up on me. It’s weighing on my conscience. I keep apologizing to her for being a terrible child but I know it’s too late. I should have told her, “I am sorry” the last time I saw her alive.

The woman who gave me life was going through a difficult time and I left her. How can I ever forgive myself? My mind keeps going back to our last moments. The images are so clear you would think it happened yesterday. All I see is the moment she took her last breath. The more I hate myself, the more I hate my aunt too. I used to send her money whenever she was in need but now I have stopped. I know the past is the past but it is holding me prisoner. How do I break free? How do I forgive myself and the woman who stepped up to raise me when my mother was absent?

—Adwoa

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