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Life is a choice


by Mary Todd

Hands of a prisoner on prison bars.

Hands of a prisoner on prison bars.

I loved him, guess that is expected for siblings, and he loved me. Never let me forget it. My only question is why. Why did it start after high school? After he meet them. That girl, those boys. I don’t think he knew he was hurting me. Not physically, but mentally. The actions? Coming home late, leaving before mom came home, and I paid the price.

My mom changed too. Started yelling, screaming, arguing. It hurt my feelings. I was the first to realize that he was doing the wrong thing. Sleeping all day, not eating with us, smelling like skunk. Yet, I never said a thing. All I did was stand by the window, waiting to see him walk away.

The first time he was caught, I cried. Just not in front of anyone. I wanted to be strong, for my mom.  Over the three months he had been in, I couldn’t see him. “Not old enough,” they would say (mom, grandpa, grandma). But I knew the real reason. It was because they didn’t want him to be depressed, that he would hate himself if I saw what had happened.

Well it’s his fault that he is in this mess, he desires some form of discipline. If he can’t deal with it, it’s his problem. Besides, I just wanted to see my brother. He was my role model for the longest time. I guess you could say I was hurt. But I never showed it.

When he got out I was happy, really happy. Gave him the biggest hug I could. He was good, until he got a hold of his friends, and that girl. I hate her.

That’s when it went downhill. Not showing up for court, drug-tests, he went back in, got out. One and a half weeks later got back in. All for the same stupid thing. Does he ever learn his lesson?

On the special occasions that he was home, his door was locked, no ‘out-side world’ allowed. Like I said, I loved him, still do. Though sometimes it’s hard, like it might be the wrong thing to do. Maybe he will change, guess it’s his choice. I just pray he make the right one.


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