I wake up every morning with a hole in my heart. I don't have a ventricular septal defect; it's nothing physical. Don't worry, I'm not dying. I just wake up every morning and prepare myself for my mother's death.
Though with all the other people in the world probably doing the same thing, I guess it isn't that special.
My mother has been on her death bed for three months, six days, three hours, seven minutes, and approximately 35 seconds. Maybe that's what makes me special. I've been counting.
Not only her days, I've been counting her breaths. When I sit at her bedside, I breathe with her. We breathe slowly, sometimes too fast. One day, it seemed as if we didn't breathe at all. Those were the scary days. The days when I felt like I wasn't as prepared as I told myself I was.
HEY GUYS! DON'T WORRY! THAT WAS NOT DAKOTA. DAKOTA DOES NOT HAVE A HOLE IN HER HEART AND HER MOTHER IS NOT DYING.
IM STARTING A NEW STORY AND I WOULD LOOOVVVEE YOUR THOUGHTS SO FAR.
I KNOW ITS SUPPPER SHORT, BUT I LOVE HEARING FROM YOU GUYS.
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Surviving the Aces (#Wattys2018)
Teen Fiction#1 in Distance #1 in Girlfriend #1 in Living #60 in Discover #2 in Brothers #5 in Love #45 in Teen Fiction #64 in Sadness #8 in Dance Eight boys. One girl. One grand home. When Dakota Hart gets forced to move away from her poor, drunken mother, she...
