The Left Overs

A newborn child crying. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I was born. Others thought I was so cute and adorable. Brother was born, and their world came crashing down around them. An extra butt to wipe, a mouth to feed. More money needed for care. It was an innocent child born into a negative world. During the days crying could be heard, cries of help, hunger and restlessness. During the nights, glass beer bottles could be heard. Loud screaming, fighting reaching into the wee hours of the morning. She was young, 16, two babies to care for now. He was 18, a mamma’s boy. He worked at the bowling alley, and stayed mostly at his mom and dad’s. She was left alone to attend to two crying babies. His mom would come over weekly to check on the babies, and to voice her opinions of what she thought of the young mother. She would bring over with her a new dress for the baby girl, and sometimes a toy for the baby boy. Arguing could be heard through each of these visits, one trying to place blame on another. One day with the mom’s help, divorce proceedings started. The young mother became scared and thought the only way to fight this was to take the babies and flee. Life was a  mess. The law was involved. The law after several weeks did track them down in another state far away. They had been stopped for speeding, which was a blessing. The law returned them all to their home state, and the babies were taken to the father’s mom and dad’s home for permanent living arrangements. The divorce went through, the grandparents raised the children, while the babies father worked. One day a few years later, he met a nice lady. Eventually, they married, and the new step mom raised the children. Life was much better, but the guilt, and the left overs from the first marriage were carried on in the mind of the children’s dad. He took that to his grave. The guilt, and all of the left over memories were then transferred from the deceased father and passed on to the baby boy, who now a man, still carries the wounds.