I remember the way my Mother's hand folds pressed against my skin. The way her aged wrinkles felt so soft to the touch. Hands, that had seen so many tough days, yet, felt so soft. I remember that she always smelt of hand lotion, even though her favorite perfume was White Linen. 

My brother says I don't know who my Mother was. How does he have the right to say these things to me while he was not even man enough to aid her through her final breaths. Yet, he is right. My Mother was a completely different person before she had me. She was a completely different person after she lost her youngest son, she changed yet again, after she lost her eldest son. 

I only know the Mother I had. A woman that had a tough life, an unfair one, a life that beat her at ever chance it had, and yet she was still warm to me. 

I miss her. I miss her like I miss breath underwater. I feel like a fish out of the sea, yet, I am drowning. 

My brother (fifteen years my senior) opened up a chapter of my Mother I had not known. He said she did whatever was needed so that they may have a meal, a home. While my Mother could have gave my three brothers up, instead, she chose to give her youth. They did not have Christmas, but they did have each other. 

I have always felt like the outsider looking in, to my Mother's three sons, and I. How could I ever know of the tough times they all shared. I was blessed with a very fortunate childhood, my Father made sure of it.

My brother must feel very alone, being the last of his kin to still be alive. A tough pill to swallow before the age of fifty. I however, loved my Mom the most, I feel. I was always there. I made sure. I never lived my life too far from hers, knowing the pain it would cause. I put my Mother first, and my surviving brethren cannot say the same. 

I am just trying to stay strong like she raised me, for my children. She told me that life must go on, no matter the pain that is inflicted. I am trying. I am trying so hard to be that strong person. I have fallen in a pit of drinking and gambling just to numb the pain, and I know it is unhealthy, but I can't stop, not yet. I've started smoking a vape whilst my Mother just died of lung cancer. I am in a spiral, only I can take myself out of. I am not ready to try.