A Mother’s Love

     Today is June 14, 2016, just four days until I turn 36. Today is the day I die. The sun has been shinning bright the past couple of days and the weatherman is confident it will stay that way for the rest of the week.

     I wish it would rain, if only for an hour, like it always seems to do in movies. Unfortunately, I'm not the hero or the one who dies tragically and everyone mourns. I suspect, just as the rest of the world believes, that I'm the villain of this story.

     I've had my chance to plead innocent, but I spent that day in silence and it has long past. I can't change the public's opinion of me, but I can speak three truths before I'm condemned to death. I don't dare write any of this down; there's no explanation that could fix this tragedy. At the end, I hope there will be at least one person who'll shed a tear.

     "I'm a single mother." I married my high school sweetheart the day after graduation and two years later I gave birth to a beautiful boy. It turned out to be the best and worst day of my life. I was so excited to show our new baby to my husband, but when the nurse wheeled us back to my room, it was empty. He left while I was in labor and I never saw him again.

     "I'm an alcoholic." I used to argue this fact with claims that my drinking never affected my daily life. It started slow, a drink or two to take the edge off once a week. The habit soon spiraled out of control, started to draw attention from the one person I never wanted to find out. It took 16 years and one car crash for me to admit my problem.

     "I love my son." People can say what they like about me, but never doubt that I love my son. He is more important than anything else in this world. The only problem is, he loves me just as much. Once he got his drivers license he would pick me up from whichever bar I was passed out in and take me home. He's the light of my life, I would do anything for him.

     One night, we were coming home from another dirty bar when it happened. It was late, well past the time my boy should have been in bed considering he had school in the morning. I don't remember much of the actual drive, but I do remember the bang of impact, the screech of metal scraping. As the truck started to spin, my head hit the window and I blacked out.

     When I woke up, the vehicle had come to a stop and I couldn't see the car we hit anywhere. The adrenaline rush from the crash, from the glass embedded in my skin and the throbbing pain in my chest gave me the clarity of mind I so desperately needed. I had to help my son, my well being wasn't important at the moment.

     Releasing the seat belt, I fought to get the door open wide enough to slip out. Stumbling in the debris from the crash, I scrambled around the vehicle toward my son. The door was jammed, but I kept pulling until it gave way. The broken handle dug into my fingertips, a stinging pain I barely felt at the time. It was until I saw his face that I realized I'd been screaming his name the entire time.

     The seat belt unsnapped easily and I gently pulled him out from behind the steering wheel. He wouldn't wake up and for a moment I feared the worst, but a closer inspection proved he was still breathing. Sobbing in relief, I held him to my chest. Sirens wailed in the distance and I prayed they would get here soon.

     I would later find out that the other vehicle had rolled over the guard rail, flipped down a hill to crash upside down in a small ravine. No one in the family of four survived long enough for paramedics to arrive.

     Reality caught up to me when two police officers arrived in my son's hospital room. The doctors wanted to separate us for treatment; I refused. Thankfully, my son wasn't awake to hear about the death of that family. The officers started talking about consequences and blame; asking uncomfortable questions.

     They kept talking, the words running together, turning into nonsense I could understand. One question got through, possibly the most important question of my life.

     "Who was driving the car?"

     There was no hesitation, I looked him in the eye and told him I was driving. My response brought a whole new slew of questions, but I didn't hear a word. As far as I was concerned, there are only three truths worth saying. I'm a single mother and an alcoholic. I love my son.