It’s hard to express yourself in the world with all the judgmental people living within it. Majority of the people I place myself around usually wonder and question why I don’t talk about things that have happened in my life. They wonder why I never talk about my family or home life. The reason I don’t is because I don’t trust anyone but myself. I think it’s time now to spill a little out.
When my mother, Alva Barner, was pregnant with me she was on drugs. How in the world could she do something like that to her child, her own flesh and blood? I could have died in her stomach or even when I was born, but I don’t think that she was even concerned about that. Something could have been wrong with me, although I do have two deformities. I guess she didn’t care that in reality, her parental rights were thrown away, forever.
Now here I am came on June 2, 1995, born into this world with not a thing wrong with me. I didn’t go home with my mother, I went home with my aunt, Sonja. When I was younger I always used to think that Sonja was my real mother. Of course, I was confused, but it was best that they told me and didn’t keep it from me. My dad, Otis Hamilton, died before I could really get to know him. He died when I was six months old. So I guess you’re wondering who took the place of my father. Well, my cousin Shamira’s father, Roscoe Canady, took that place and adopted me (that’s how I got my last name). He’s been in my life since I came into this world just as well as Sonja and Shamira, which is Sonja’s daughter, which makes her my first cousin. Although she’s not my real sister, I still call her that until this day. She’s been like a sister to me and she deserves that title more than anything.
March 13, 2003 was the most heartbreaking and tragic day of my whole entire life. It was the day when my aunt died of stomach cancer. She was in the hospital from November, 2002 until March 13, 2003. They took her whole stomach out. And when I mean they took it out they tore that mess up. She could only drink liquid from a tube. They killed her! When my dad told me she died I immediately broke down and started crying. I ended up saying forget everyone including family. That’s why I’m so distant from everyone.
It’s hard to lose somebody that you love and would do anything for, especially when that person took care of you for most of your whole life. Everyone loved her, she was the nicest person on the block, and I bet they all miss her. But no one misses her like Shamira and I. As bad as I want to cry every time I think about her and how I wish she was here, I don’t because I want to hold everything in. And I know that’s not good because I might let it out in the wrong way. I made sure I visited her every day in the hospital, and trust me it was horrific. Watching someone die isn’t a pretty sight at all. No one should every have to go through that.
She only came home once from the hospital and you wouldn’t imagine how I felt when I saw her. I will never ever forget that day. My dad told me that he had a surprise for me at the house, and when I came through the door there she was. I ran straight to her and hugged her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. I told her that I was so happy to see her and that I missed and loved her and wanted her to come home. She told me that she loved me and missed me too and that she was trying to get better so she could come home and never have to look back. The whole day she was there, I stayed by her side. I didn’t eat and I tried my hardest not to fall asleep. When I did finally go to sleep, all I could think about was her and when I woke up she wasn’t there. Next thing I know, a few months pass and I visited her every day. Then after a few weeks she was gone and I didn’t even get to tell her good-bye. I lost a part of my heart and soul that day that I don’t think I can ever get back. And that’s why I keep stuff inside, instead of just letting it all go.
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