Ryan Robins

The Thief That Stole My Mom Ryan Robins

Our journey started about ten years ago. Today, my mom is dying a slow, dark, humiliating, and despicable death. Her brain is disintegrating before my eyes. The eyes that remember seeing her for the first time when I was three years old, sitting on the floor playing at her feet while she ironed. The day I begin to write this, my mom, for the first time, does not know who I am. I'm no longer her daughter, Jenny. Today, in her utterly confused mind, I am Betty, her non-existent sister. But it's okay because she still told me she loved me, and for today, that's good enough.