I Purim

Purim brings up lots of stuff for me. Bad memories. Good memories. Confusion. I remember as a child waking up in the morning and running down stairs with my siblings to see what my mother had prepared for us in our personalized "shalach manot" baskets. One year she baked a whole lemon pie just for me because she knew how much I liked it!
My father got drunk every year and acted happy and crazy and wild. We thought it was funny and exciting, but it was also disturbing and sometimes scary. Once he gave my little sister a cigarette to inhale. She coughed and cried and couldn't catch her breath. He would have my mom drive him around the neighborhood delivering mishloach manot and we would tag along to laugh at his antics. He got a lot of attention. Everyone liked him. I wanted to be liked too. But as usual, it was all about him. I did not exist as a person seperate from my family.
I always hoped something would change on purim. On purim anything was possible. On purim things were topsy turvey so maby something would change for me and the pain inside would go away. There was always a huge let down when it was over and everything was still the same. I miss my family. I them and never want to see them again. I miss them terribly....