How My Mother Raised Me Despite Not Having a Mother Herself.
The impact of my mother’s relationship with her mother on our relationship
At seven years old, my grandmother told me my mother was poor. I knew she shouldn’t have said that to me, and I looked at her to see if she had an explanation, but she didn’t. I spent that night in her guest room. I began to question why everyone else had more money in the family and if it was terrible that my mom was poor. Is it her fault? I wondered as I lay on the thick, pink, and white striped comforter, looking around the decorated room. My grandmother’s house was huge; there were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, both with showers, and another room in the two-car garage big enough to be a studio apartment.
The following day, my mother picked me up. She came in the door with a huge smile and her arms wide open as she waited for me to fall in them. I quickly ran to her, happy to feel her hug me. As we walked down the light grey cement driveway to the car, I couldn’t help but think about what my grandmother said. I realized I didn’t care about how much money my mom didn’t or did have. I sat in the back of my mother’s car and watched as the cars passed us on the street. I felt my mouth and throat get dry. My hands began to sweat as I felt like two walls were caving in on me. I only had two…
