Every time my dad brings up my mother on the phone, my voice cracks and my throat tightens. And the huge hole in my chest aches. I can never tell him how I feel about it, because words can’t come out to justify how I feel. And I know he’s thinking the same, because I can hear it in his voice, with how it shakes. I remember how I prayed for my mother to overcome her sickness, for her to embrace life like she hasn’t gotten too for 12 years. For me, to endure all the pain she felt inside my self. But it never happened and I remember hating God for taking her away and the bitterness of it sunk low, and then I began to lose my self, to lose faith. But I regained that faith and kept moving forward because I know my mother wants me to succeed and that’s what keeps me sane enough to wake up.