Living In the Bathtub
Four years ago today, my mother left her body after a twenty-year struggle with herself. To the casual observer, she died of "MS", but thanks to fighting tooth and nail through my own traumatic experiences, I see the whole thing very differently. For as long as I can remember, our home was filled with unhealthy "food". My father was self-employed, so the financial aspect of my childhood wasn't always all that secure or dependable, but even during our poorest times, our cupboards were stocked with cookies, pasta, chips, bread, and "treats" (I call these " mis -treats" today) of all kinds. Even in the winter, our freezer contained ice cream, frozen waffles, and popsicles, and we definitely ate them. My father would pass us twenty-dollar bills whenever my sister and I would head to the convenience store at the end of our street, and rarely was there ever any change as we lugged home plastic bags filled to the rim with penny candy,