When I was a child, I did not live with what I went through. All I can say is it was completely gone. If something happened the night before or during a weekend, I simply did not know.
I felt a sense of sadness inside or maybe a knowledge I was different. But I had no explanation for this foreboding feeling.
As I grew closer to eight years old, I became aware of the fact that I had no parent, mother or father. I did not mourn it though. It didn't even seem important to me.
I lived in a strange place. I did not know anything. I believe to keep the memories down until I could handle them.
After my mother died, it was time. She was gone. My world changed. Something about her being dead opened a tremendous fear. A fear I had to deal with, or it would end me.