Cover image for Brandon Smiling, by MrM

Wednesday, January 17, 5 Years ago.

Mama went into the hospital today.

I’m really worried. She came down with something last night and it went straight to her lungs. Now she has double new moaning. I don’t know how to say it right.

This morning she was turning blue so Daddy called an ambulance.

I’m in my bed now. I’m trying not to be scared and cry, but it’s hard not to. I want to be strong for my Daddy and for my Mama but….

….I don’t wanna lose my Mama!

God….please don’t let my Mama die……PLEEASE!

Can’t stop crying. :*(

Ooops. Dad must have heard me crying. He came in to check on me.

Oh no! NO! No Mama!! Mamaaaa!

He came in to tell me…she’s gone.

Not my Mama!

Why? WHY?

January 17, Present Day

Oh God…why did you betray me too? Why?


My Dad just had to come in and hold me and get me to calm down. I woke up calling for her again. It’s been that way since that night five years ago.

I wake up some nights and it’s like she’s right there standing next to my bed. But if she is, then it’s only her ghost and how could I believe that even as a ghost she would remind me that she is gone like that. I will never forget, I guess. I’ll always be waking up like this…calling her name.

She and I were as close as any two people could be. She smelled right, you know? Sometimes after a shower I catch my own natural scent and it is hers. My blood was her blood. I kept a pillow of hers for a while because it still had her smell.

The scent finally faded…but not my memories. It completed my heartbreak the day that scent was totally gone. The last thing I had of her was gone. God had taken that too.

This night five years ago is when she passed away from a case of pneumonia that had gotten out of control. She’d let it go too long because she didn’t like doctors. By the time it had become an emergency, it was too late.

She died in the emergency room under critical care in the ‘crash room’. I visited it once. Our grief counselor thought it might bring closure. It really didn’t. How can a cold room full of air pumps, heart paddles, tubes and strange sharp devices do anything but remind a person of what someone they loved had to go through? I don’t want to think about that. I used to like that Life in the ER reality show…but can’t watch it anymore. Mama suffered before she passed and that hurts me more.

I was angry at her for a while. Angry at why she’d always drag me to the doctor for the least little thing but then she wouldn’t go herself when she couldn’t catch her breath anymore and was coughing with that horrible barking cough. Angry that she would abandon me like that.

Angry that she, just like Joseph, just like God…betrayed me.

How selfish of me. Why is it always about who betrayed ‘me’? Who have I betrayed? Have I betrayed my father by not being there for him enough after Mama died?

I was so wrapped up in my own issues that all I did was add to his misery. He had lost the love of his life and here I was carrying on about the loss of my Mama.

He never ever blamed me for that. He actually said it helped him to comfort me because it was something he could do to make something a little better for a little while.

But…I’m still feeling guilty about it.

Guilt. Guilt and anger seem to be my two major emotions. If I’m not angry about something then I’m guilty about it. Then, I’m guilty for being angry about it.

I’m a fucking whack job, huh?

Anyways, tonight has been hard. The day was harder, probably. It always is on this day. I have to do my duty to my mother’s memory so that’s why I had my Dad call me in ‘sick’ from school.

They don’t care what day it is. Their stupid lessons and attendance records are all they care about. I didn’t know they got paid a certain amount for the kids in attendance. I found that out one day. No wonder they come down on truant students. it’s all about money. That just seems…wrong… you know?

Nobody cares about anything. It’s all just a cold and dead game to them. Between money and lives, money always wins.

I sometimes wish I could join Mama in heaven. I’m so tired of this life. I’m tired of being lonely. I’m tired of working so hard for people that don’t care about me. I’m tired of feeling guilty about…what I am. I’m tired of hating God for what He did to me at so young an age. Taking my Mama away.

Only, my Dad would lose all he has left, I suppose. That is maybe why I carry on. I don’t know.

I guess…if I hate God then I can’t join Mama in heaven anyway. I’ll have to go down to the other place and burn forever. I’m a fag after all. That’s where I belong.

I’m back…had, to, uh…wash my face I guess.

So, I dressed in my suit and we went to visit Mama’s grave. I bought some flowers. They were too expensive, but I insisted on buying them with my own money. I’d been saving my allowance for a month so I could afford nice ones.

She’s just a name plate now with her name and ‘Beloved of God. Beloved Wife and Mother’ on it. My Dad had me choose the epitaph. So those are my words cast in the metal plate. I also chose the color of her coffin. I chose a pearl pink-white one. It was a happy color not a somber one.

She always liked bright and cheerful colors.

Yeah, why am I troubling you with this, Nameless Hacker? You probably came here trying to find a credit card number or maybe for some underage sex story in a boy’s diary. Instead…

Instead you get Brandon whining.

Sorry about that. I try to put a good spin on things when I write about stuff, but some days I have to just…be myself.

That person is not such a fun guy, really. He’s kind of a jerk most the time. He’s also a whiney bitch. It’s no wonder no one wants to be my friend.

I can’t even stand myself.

I think I’m going to go out. I’m not supposed to. it’s night time and my Dad will think I’m still in bed. But, I won’t sleep tonight. I’ll be wasted tomorrow at school, but who fucking cares. I’ll be in the Library hiding as per usual. Maybe I can take a nap there.

I’m back.

I walk around the neighborhood at night when I can’t sleep like tonight. Sometimes I have to hide behind a bush when a patrol car comes around. There’s a curfew around here for kids. It’s supposed to keep them safe and to keep crime down. Yeah, like I’m going to be a threat to anyone.

I pass by the houses. Most are dark but some aren’t. A lot of people seem to be up all night like me. I always wonder about their lives. What they are doing. What they are feeling. To me their worlds always impress me as being warm and happy worlds as opposed to my cold and dark one.

The grass is always greener, I guess.

Probably the truth is that their lives are just as screwed up as mine is, maybe worse. Maybe they do stupid things and get into trouble. Maybe someone out there is spending their night writing silly stuff in a blog or a diary too about what went on in their day.

I can’t imagine anyone being that lame. I take the cake on lame-o.

And yet…

At one point in my walk tonight I paused across the street from one house. I don’t know why. I saw a light in a window that looked like a bedroom window. The light was like a flashlight or a really pale reading lamp. It caught my attention because it moved around like it was being held by someone moving.

Probably a kid reading his comic books after hours like he was not supposed to or maybe he was the one writing away in a diary in the middle of the night like me.

Maybe, he is putting down a secret life of his own.

Maybe I’m not so alone as I thought.

I walked away and left the light-bearer to his work, whatever it might be. I left him to his secret life full of games, and friends, and secret crushes. A life full of teenage dreams and heartaches.

Things you can get over as you grow up.

Unfortunately for me, I had to grow up too soon.
I am losing my dreams and every day is a heartache that never ends.

Thanks God.

I hope that person writing his diary never has to hurt like that…not like I do.



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