The Internet, at least the most tangible version, has turned into a warm electronic shoulder, but that does work alike. Every day, hundreds of people write to us for a second or forty second thought. To help those in need of the collective experience of hundreds of thousands of Anabel readers, we thought to post your letters in the form of articles. That way, you find it easier when you are in the same difficulty someday. Thank you for writing and thank you for reading.
The first meeting with my stepmother was when I was just five years old. I do not remember much of that time, but I remember connecting my braid hair and constantly asking me what I wanted to wear. Sometimes I got bored when I had to set myself for my clothes and I can not deny that sometimes it seemed to me that it made the caste to bother me. She knew I was having trouble picking up my clothes, then why did you ask me?
I was a kid. I still did not go to the first class and I could hardly understand that she, my stepmother, my father's second wife, just felt perhaps excluded and asked for everything to be approved first. In fact, when we say it, I mean for myself.
It was difficult for me to accept as my mother, not because I did not like it, on the contrary. I loved her and I love her every day. I found it difficult for a child at 5-6 years of age to realize that a "foreign" person at home is not "mom". For my good or bad luck, I remember a bit like a mist at the time my mom left home.
I remember the moment when she came to the luggage door in her hand. He kissed me and left without turning his head. Or at least I feel like I remember it, because it's no wonder I have created this scene in my head from the stories that my grandmother told me from time to time. She fled abroad, left for Italy with some of her family members, just as she left her dad. My grandmother told me that they needed much, but her desire to leave had endlessly brought home debates, how the decision to divorce was inevitable. Dad, a devoted and very dedicated family, starting from the plight of his grandfather, asked them to go to emigration at a second moment. She did not accept, and so their love began to sink. If she had her love ... always.
Her departure was traumatic for a child. I cried and remembered every day. I wanted to talk to him. I asked grandparents when to come. I refused to kiss and embraced my dad after I had an internal rage that he had the blame that Mom left. But no. Over the years I realized that it was not his fault. Of the circumstances? I do not know. I have not yet given an answer.
Do not stretch too much, I'm coming back to my stepmother. Unlike my mother, who just got me on the phone for birthdays, celebrations, and teens without a specific case, the stepmother was much more careful than I expected. Since I did not call Mom (even today I do not call Mom in fact) we had it easier to have a relationship as a friend.
Regardless of any possible conflict, because when you do not have your mother, sometimes takes things for worse, we managed to build a very close relationship for years. Let's say we do not kiss and embrace every day, because both do not really endure kisses, but we know we love each other more than we do.
She and Dad today also have two other children. At first, I felt a little bit worried that they seemed to replace me and I would disappear from their heart once and for all, but not. Brother, sister and I are so equal. Not to say that I'm the most fond of. They know my story. For both, I'm the weak point.
The stepmother, for my good fortune, never became my mother. Unlike the biological mom, which I have met only 3 times in my life, the mother that the fate bestowed upon me is quite the opposite. The Lord threw you with one hand and waited with the other say. And there is one thing I'm grateful for forever, is the fact that an angel brought me when my church needed more. - written by an anonymous girl for Anabel Magazine, Facebook.
