Today, he was five years old. The house was cold. He climbed on the chair and looked at that thing on the wall. His mommy called it a thromarat or something like that. He looked out the window, the one not fogged with frost. He picked up the empty bottle from the floor. Why did mommy love this stuff more than him? He was Hungary. He opened the cabinets, the ones he could reach. Nothing to eat. He looked at the ones he couldn’t reach. The one’s way up there. He was cold, so cold. He crawled into bed and covered up the best he could with the tattered blankets. Still, he shivered. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he went to sleep when he woke up mommy would be here.
They found her in the alley behind the Tabern. An empty bottle in her right hand. A baggy in the other. Several left. Saving some for later. Just another OD. They questioned the bartender. He knew little about her. Yeah, she had a kid. Saw her one time staggering down the street clutching the boy’s hand. The officer in charge of the investigation of her death checked with CPS. They confirmed from they’re files. Yes, she had a child. They gave them the address. The door was unlocked. They found him on the bed, covered with a ragged blanket. The female officer picked him up.
“Mommy?” He murmured. Bringing tears to her eyes. How did she answer him? How did you explain to a five-year-old boy his mother would not be coming home? “Mommy?” He repeated waking now. His chapped lips opening in a bewildered smile. She carried the freezing child down the stairs and out to the SUV. He weighed little. She held him on the way to the hospital. He died in the emergency room. Just another child of a mother who died of drugs. He was only five years old. Today was his birthday.
There are no words. Heart breaking