The Day I Found My Mother’s Crack Pipe
<p><em>Time/Location: Middle school years, Milwaukee, Wisconsin.</em></p>
<p>Walking through the house, I called out for my mom several times but got nothing. I knew she was there as I saw her jacket in the bedroom, which we shared every time she stayed at my grandmother’s house with us. We didn’t see her much as, legally, she wasn’t supposed to even be there per neglect charges stemming from drug and alcohol abuse. But I guess the cries for our mom rang louder than any court order summons. She had moments of being a good mom before she got high.</p>
<p>There was silence as I walked down the basement stairs, calling for her, but I knew she was somewhere in the house.</p>
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