Gina Heslop
My school days were tough. Saturday mornings meant scouring thrift stores for hand-me-down clothes, as buying new ones was out of the question for my family. Socializing was a luxury; birthday parties were a no-go because Mom couldn’t understand why we’d spend money on gifts. Pocket money? That was unheard of.
But amidst the struggle, my father was my rock. Every night, he’d call me his little light, bringing joy to my dreary days with small treats and secret trips to the movies. Mom, on the other hand, seemed distant, lost in her own world. She was strict about money, reminding me to turn off lights to save on bills.
In high school, I got a part-time job at a pet grooming salon to earn some cash. Dad was proud, seeing it as a step towards independence. Mom, though, wasn’t impressed. When I got my first paycheck, she took more than half, claiming she needed it to run the household. It became a pattern.
Then tragedy struck. Dad was in an accident during a storm and didn’t make it. Mom delivered the news, her voice filled with sorrow as she stood in my room, wearing her socks and slippers.
I was devastated. Dad was my guiding light, the one who made life bearable. Without him, everything felt bleak. Mom tried to console me, but her presence only reminded me of the void Dad had left behind.
In the aftermath, I had to navigate life without Dad’s warmth and support. Mom and I tried to make ends meet, but the loss of Dad’s income made things even harder. Despite the challenges, I held onto Dad’s memory, finding solace in the moments we shared and the love he gave unconditionally.
