Parents

I never knew what I wanted, even when the prize was so easy to grasp. I always felt the tendency to sabotage my dreams, just to see the disappointment in my mother's eye. Even when she was dying of cancer, I felt like I had failed her.

My father is another story. Though I still reflect on that warm September day, wondering why a police officer was loitering in the kitchen? I still recall the look on my mother's face, trying to tell me that my father wouldn't be coming home again. So strange how I felt no grief in that room of death? Perhaps an eight-year-old child can't articulate such emotion? Or maybe I just didn't love him?