Growing up

Looking back, I grew up too fast.  But sometimes not at all.   Forced to raise my sisters while my family crumbled around me.  I was five when my youngest sister was born.  Handicapped, she would never be like the rest of us.  I remember going to Wal-Mart with my grandmother, we were buying flowers for my mom and sister.  She had been in intensive care since she was born via emergency c-section six days prior.  "What are we doing?" I asked.  "Buying Kacie flowers,"  was the answer.  I didn't understand.  "But, it's my birthday."  I replied.  Did she not understand?  I had reached a milestone, finally able to use my entire hand to indicate my age.  And how was I to celebrate?  At the hospital, bringing flowers to a younger sibling that I had yet to even hold.  

It would be years before I ever realized that this small event would set the stage for my entire life.  The way that subtly, I have been trained to put others first.  How I developed the patience to deal with those events that would drive others to the bottle – be it alcohol or a large amount of prescription pills.  

My life was difficult, my battle cry of "That's not fair" could be heard in the wind, echoing each day as I dealt with each challenge set before me.  Mentally handicapped sister.  Feuding parents and their two year divorce.  My mother's return to college, and thus turning the family responsibilities over to me.  The introduction of my step-father, a nice enough man, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.  My mothers over bearing nature, and tendency to try too hard, yet never make up for anything.  

Growing up is never easy.  Some do it with style and grace.  Others trip and fall more times than they can count.  I, I on the other hand, was lead in limbo somewhere in the middle.  Failing to properly raise a family at age fifteen, failed.  Failed at a task I never should have been charged with.