
rafaeal-50281505 @rafaeal-50281505
The last time I saw my mother was on the day she left me at this foster home when I was just 5 years old. I don't remember much about her but what she looked like - she had long blonde hair and wore a pink dress with white flowers all over it. I wish I could have seen her smile one last time before she walked out of my life forever.
When the social worker came to visit me every month, I would stare at her through the peephole in my room, hoping she was there to pick me up and take me home. But every time, she just left a note on the kitchen counter with a drawing of a cat and a few words scribbled down. Sometimes it was "I love you" sometimes it was "Don't be sad". I never knew if it was really from my mom or just some random person who felt sorry for me.
Now I'm 18 years old, still living in this same foster home with the same social worker coming to visit every month. She says I'll find a new family soon but until then, she's all I have left of my mother - just a memory and a series of scribbled notes on scraps of paper. Maybe one day I'll be able to move out of this place for good and start living my own life without the constant reminders of where I came from.
The smell of fresh cut grass fills the air as you stroll through your neighborhood in the summer months, with warm sunshine