It wasn’t something I wanted to do and I hoped she understood that. When she came home tonight and found my room vacant, she had to understand.

Grasping my bedroom door, I hesitated, like I did every time I tried to do this before. My heart clung to the good moments.

Coming home from school to a warm dinner. Watching her, smile bright, in the stands at my hockey games. She didn’t make it to many of them, but when she did I played just for her. Last year, when I begged her to keep it together for Christmas, and she didn’t touch any alcohol all week.

When I thought about my mom, I thought about these moments. The ones that warm me, usually dismissing the chill I constantly wore at my spine. For years I’ve been able to ignore the dark cloud over these memories. To pretend that we we’re living in a constant storm, waiting for lighting to strike.

But yesterday, thunder crashed and I knew the strike was soon to follow. I couldn’t do it again.

I didn’t want to leave, but I needed to go.