Mama’s Scapegoat

The phone rang late one evening. My mother was dead, killed by a drug addict she treated better than she treated her own children and grandchildren. Emotionally, I was numb. After a lifetime of her abuse, I felt no emotion. Not love, not hate, nothing. I did my duty by driving over seven-hundred miles and helping my siblings clean a bloody room, empty the house, and make funeral arrangements. I went through the motions and no one knew how I really felt. It's terrible to feel nothing, but I guess that was my way of protecting myself.