Category : Stories

Sub Category : Drama

This Must Write Thursday article was delayed a day due to family obligations around the holiday season.  Plus this one took some time to really think through because this one struck a few chords for me.

She yelled down to her boys who were arguing over the one swing left in the tiny playground.  This pitiful existence was not what she had in mind when she started her family, but this was all she could muster.

Nobody cares if the slums have miniscule and under maintained playgrounds.  Society disregards the poor like a cancer on their otherwise normal lives.  Why care about those who won’t help themselves right?  None of them cared how we got here, just that they did not want anything to do with those who are here.  Us impoverished and pitiable fools without education enough to know better, nor the opportunities to propel us out.

They might be embarrassed if they knew they grouped a veteran in this group.  I served four years as a marine before getting pregnant.  My husband had six years in when my first boy was born.  Back then life was simple, easy even.  I left the service to raise the boys and his pay rate would take care of us.  We thought we had it all figured out.

The IED that killed him and tore apart three other families happened while I was pregnant with his second boy, they never met.  Worse, was that now we are a no income family with nothing to fall back on.  

The whole world said they would help us, but they always fell short of real help.  The mortgage came due and there was noone to help keep us in our home.  When the car loan came due and we were left wanting for the help we need.  I sought gainful employment and there was none for a lowly veteran with two children to feed.

They promised to help and left us to our own devices with only ourselves to move forward.  My youngest never knowing a father, my oldest without memories of the most wonderful man I ever knew.

Seven years have passed since we were forgotten.  We make due with what we have but we have each other and that is a lot.  I could change our lot in life and make life better for the three of us, but I would be sacrificing the only thing that we have always had.

I watch them share the swing and play like the beautiful children they are.  I wish for so much better for them but I cannot bring myself to sacrifice the one thing it would take to save us from our station.  

I take a walk through the house and carefully avoid stepping on the few toys the boys have strewn about the apartment.  I struggle to ignore the arguing neighbors screaming at each other and restrain the urge to scream at them to be quiet.  Is this the kind of place a child belongs?

I take a look into their room they share and stare at the blank walls and simple beds of the tiny room.  No posters of heroes, no artwork expressing their view of the world.  They have no outlet for them to express themselves and it was all because I failed to be the kind of mother they deserve.

I want to do the right thing and give them the opportunities they deserve.  Would they understand the time away to give them the simple things that they lack here?  Can anyone be happy here?  What on earth is the right thing to do?  In my heart I know that the only thing that matters is caring for these to boys.  Am I doing them harm by staying here when they could be better off?

They don’t know there is a better life out there, that life could be better.  God bless their innocence.  Someday, somehow, they may come to blame me for not providing for them like a mother should.  Maybe I should be a better example?

I have only one choice in the end.  I may not like the option, but if I am ever to do better for my kids then there is only one call to make.

I know the number by heart at this point.  I have dialed it every day for years.  Just dial the numbers and stare at the phone like a snake in my hands.  If I send the call the snake may bite, but if I don’t it will always hold power over me.  

Bite or no bite it was time for a change.  I press the button and let it ring, a single tear flows down my cheek.  “Recruiting, how may I direct your call?