I do remember all those nights of their screaming, of him bundling us up and having us walk down the street to the neighbors so we didn't have to witness our father calling the police on our mother. I do remember that they telling our father that if he didn't divorce her, we would be put into foster homes.
He loved her, you know. but he loved us more.
I do remember the holidays and custody weekends she went missing with that purse filled with pill bottles that weren't hers to take, the number of times she was evicted, the number of boyfriends who used and abused her, the number of tearful chants under the covers that taught me that crying doesn't help anything.

I also remember that she was the only one who cared about our birthdays. She wanted us to understand we were special. I remember how we listened to songs on the radio like it was our religion, having dance parties wherever we could. I remember she called me her angel. She loved old movies and soft rock and seashells and fairies. I remember the adventures, the zoos and the farmer markets and the pumpkin patches, where I learned we weren't the center of the world after all. I remember she always smelled like lilacs.

But i don't remember her voice

9.21.07 was her last day.
five years this week.