To say I had a difficult childhood was a major understatement. Being raised by an eighteen-year-old mom who had no idea who my father was came with certain complications. The kind that meant she was always pissed at me because it cost so much money to raise a kid, and she blamed me for not being able to go out and have fun all the time like her friends were doing. Her frustration quickly turned into bitterness; which led her down the path of destruction. Hers—and mine if she had her way and was able to take me along for the ride.

Once I was in Kindergarten, she was leaving me home alone for a couple of hours at a time when she wanted to go out with friends. When third grade rolled around, she had moved away from drinks with friends to meeting up with her drug dealer. One year later, it was overnight motel stays for “dates” she went on with “uncles” I knew I didn’t have. As her need for drugs grew, she stopped checking in to a motel and started bringing them home instead.

By home, I meant the one-bedroom apartment she rented for us. Whenever she had a visitor, I needed to make myself scarce and there weren’t many places to go. When I was in the fifth grade, I started using the laundry room in the basement as my safe haven. I’d drag my homework down there, along with a blanket and a pillow in a laundry bin. If I fell asleep in the corner where the sink was, I could squeeze part-way under it so nobody would see me unless they were specifically looking for me. I’d seen enough in my young life to be scared something bad could happen to me in the middle of the night, but I never considered the danger my mom was in. Not until when I was twelve and returned to our apartment one night only to find her naked body sprawled on the floor with vomit surrounding it.

“Mom!” I screamed as I shook her still form and tried to wake her up. When the chilliness of her skin registered in my brain, I realized she wasn’t just passed out and something was seriously wrong. I ran to my room and grabbed blankets to toss over her body to try and warm her up. Then I dug through her purse for her cell phone and called 9-1-1. I was frantic as I explained what was happening, and the operator stayed on the line until an ambulance and the police arrived.

The paramedics didn’t spend a lot of time working over my mom’s body before they loaded her onto a stretcher and carried her down to the waiting ambulance. By this time, I was sobbing uncontrollably and the policeman was trying to calm me down and ask some questions. Fear of the unknown kept me silent because as horrible as my mom was, at least I knew what to expect with her. I didn’t know who my father was and there wasn’t anyone else I could call to take me in if she was going to be in the hospital for long. I didn’t know what the police would do when they found out I was on my own, and it terrified me.

“She’s in no condition to answer now,” his female partner said. “We better call CPS and have someone meet us at the hospital.”

He glanced at me before nodding. “Go ahead and get changed, sweetie. We’ll make sure we take you to your mom.”

I walked into the bedroom I shared with her and started to shut the door for some privacy, but then their conversation drifted towards me. With the door open a crack, I leaned as close to it as I could get without making any noise so I could listen to what they were saying.

“When we call CPS we better tell them to send someone to meet us at the hospital,” the policeman said.

“I know,” his partner agreed.

“Did you see that shit?” he hissed.

“Yeah. Hopefully it’s not too late for CPS to get her some help before she winds up just like her mom.”

I wanted to run back into the living room and yell at him for daring to suggest that I would turn out anything like the woman who had given birth to me. My life might be crap, but that didn’t mean I planned to eat shit for the rest of my life. But I resisted the temptation because I knew it wouldn’t do any good. There wasn’t anything I could say or do to change their minds.

I wasn’t in control of much in my life, but I’d learned to focus on the few things I was because it made me feel like I was organizing the chaos a little bit. For the moment, all I could do was throw some stuff into my backpack so I had things to do while I was at the hospital with my mom. After checking to make sure I had everything I needed to do my homework, I grabbed a couple of books that I had borrowed from the school library and a change of clothes.

“I’m ready,” I said as I walked down the hall, making sure they stopped talking about me and my sucky life before I made it into the room.

Being hustled into the back seat of the squad car parked at the curb in front of my building wasn’t one of the best moments of my life. I felt like everyone was staring at me and thought I’d done something illegal. There was an awkward silence as we drove to the hospital. The guy cop was driving, and his gaze kept drifting back to where I sat brooding with my arms crossed protectively around my body. I was still pissed about what I’d heard him say and figured my hostility must have been shining through.

When we got to the hospital, the cops handed me off to a caseworker from Children’s Protective Services. She asked me a ton of questions before she sat me down in the waiting room to go in search of someone who could let us know what was going on with my mom. She wasn’t alone when she returned. There was a doctor with her, and both of them had serious expressions on their faces as they walked over to where I was sitting. After the caseworker sat down next to me, she took my hand in hers and squeezed. I knew the news wasn’t going to be good before the doctor said a word.

“You’re Faith?” he asked. I nodded in response, fear making my throat swell up so I couldn’t speak. “I’m sorry to tell you that your mom didn’t make it.”

He said more after that, but I couldn’t hear him over the buzzing sound in my ears. When I noticed his lips had stopped moving, I cleared my throat. “She’s dead?” I asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, she was already gone when the paramedics arrived,” he confirmed before looking at the caseworker. She nodded her head, and it must have been a signal to let him know it was okay for him to leave because he got up and walked away.

Once we were alone, the caseworker turned in her seat to stare into my eyes. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she began. “I bet you’re probably scared right now, but I’m here to help. You’re not alone. I’ll make sure you have somewhere safe to go where you’ll be taken care of while I work with the police to find family who can take you in.”

I nodded to let her know I understood what she was saying, but I was too stunned to think about how to react right now. After she was done talking with some of the hospital staff, it was time to go. Getting into the car with her, I felt like my life had hit rock bottom. I was only twelve and hadn’t even hit puberty yet, but I’d already learned the world could be a cruel place when there wasn’t anyone in it who cared if you lived or died.