Everything but a Childhood

 Growing up- well, not really growing but when I was eight, my dad died from cancer, which impacted my family. Not really me, because you know I was young. So I’m just gonna fast forward A LOT. My mom got a boyfriend and she kind of showed her attention to him and forgot about me and my other 4 sisters.

So, while living in Secaucus, money got difficult, so we lived with our grandmother for about 2-3 years. I was 11 years old when we moved to Jersey City.

Now, Jersey City was like the hood hood.  Especially on pali block, aka “Palisades.” When I was involved in CPS, my mom got checks every 3rd of the month, $1,579. This part in my life, I will never blame my mother for, but she developed an alcohol addiction. The majority of that money went to her addiction. So, we really didn’t have much.

When I was 12, I got a job as a barber in Journal Square (Downtown Jersey). From 2:00pm after school to 10:30pm taking the bus back and forth. Just to make money so my younger sister can eat. As the alcohol, got to my mom she argued a lot more with my older sister. Eventually they got tired of it…and left.

So it was just me, my younger sister, my mom and her girlfriend. Like I said before, money was hard so I sacrificed a lot for my sister.  I stopped going to school a lot and focused on money. I remember one day my mom hit me because I told her that she was spending the rent money on alcohol…I never told her how to spend her money again. However, I loved my mom and I still do so I can never hold grudges on her.

Now, the ways I used to make money wasn’t the best and I regret doing what I did. I used to sell illegal things and I used to steal from stores. At the time I was 13, robbing people, with my “friends.” I remembering jumping somebody with like 6 of my friends and I ended up opening some wounds, you could say, all for just a few hundred dollars.

As time went on, my grandmother came to get us before CPS took us. Unfortunately, my mom and her girlfriend ended up in a homeless shelter in the Bronx in NY. My mom got really skinny, and I couldn’t recognize her. It was hard for me to look at her without getting emotional- as much as I hate typing this I feel like people should know so I’m just gonna finish.

Now, on 2 years living with my grandma, turning 15 I got a phone call. It was a lady from the homeless shelter. My first thought was that my mom was calling to talk to me. The lady ended up asking “Are you a loved one of Wilnelia Dejesus?” I answered yes, but I was confused. That’s when she broke the news that my mom had overdosed, and in the hospital she was DOA (Dead on Arrival). January 9th, 2021. I honestly couldn’t believe it, I was in such shock that I couldn’t feel because my worst fear became reality.

I wish I could’ve told my mom I love her one last time.

Fast forward, I’m 18 now, and still here, so that’s good I guess. It just took me awhile to accept it.

With both my parents dead, it’s hard to have everything but a childhood.