Day Eight - Child Raising a Child

Later that year, my dad passed away, and the pain was unbearable.

My mother cried herself to sleep night after night. There were nights I would hear her scream my father’s name and ask God, Why did you take him? Why did you leave us with this pain?

Home became such a painful place for me. Everywhere I looked, I felt my father’s absence. His chair was empty. His voice was gone. Even ordinary moments—walking through the hallway, sitting at the dinner table, hearing the phone ring—reminded me that he would never come back. I saw my mother grieving, and I was grieving too. I loved her, but being home, surrounded by so much sadness, became almost impossible for me.

I was always looking for a way out—somewhere to go, someone to be with, anything that could take my mind away from the pain. I stayed out longer, filled my days with work, and searched for any place where I didn’t have to hear my mother crying or sit alone with my own thoughts.

I got a job at Woolworths in Westchester Square in the Bronx, and around that time, I was dating someone. I wasn’t looking for warning signs. I was looking for love, comfort, attention, and a place where I didn’t feel so alone. After losing my father, I was carrying more responsibility at home while still feeling like a child myself. I wanted someone to make me feel protected, wanted, and less afraid of what came next.

Sometimes, when you are hurting deeply, attention can feel like love.

Slowly, I stopped spending time with my friends. All of my time became about him. The possessiveness started showing itself, but I was too young and too emotionally lost to understand what was happening. I mistook being needed for being loved, and I confused control with protection.

Everything moved so fast.

I got married, became pregnant, and, at only 18 years old, had my first son.

I was a child having a child.

My anxiety became even stronger. I was grieving my father, worrying about my mother, trying to understand marriage, and suddenly responsible for a little baby who depended completely on me. I remember the exhaustion, the long nights, the quiet fear that I might not know what I was doing, and the pressure to appear strong when I still needed someone to comfort me.

I kept thinking, How am I supposed to take care of a baby when I still don’t know how to take care of myself?

I had grown up far too fast. My father’s death had left me feeling unprotected and alone, and motherhood forced me to become responsible before I had the chance to process my grief. Instead of having time to heal, I moved from loss into marriage, pregnancy, and motherhood, carrying pain I had never learned how to name.

At 18 years old, I was carrying grief, fear, responsibility, motherhood, and a relationship that was becoming more controlling.

I didn’t know it then, but every one of those painful moments was becoming part of my journey.