Personal Narrative: My First American Civil War

538 Words3 Pages
I came to America when I was seven, but that trip didn’t include my mother. There was a civil war going on in my home country, Liberia, so we fled. I remember seeing her one day, and then the next she was gone. Growing up, I was always too scared to ask my dad what happened, even today I have never really had that conversation with him, and I don’t know when I will. Now, at the age of eighteen, it’s not fear of the truth that keeps me from asking, but rather pity for my dad; the fear of his coming to be resented by me, despite being one of the only stable things in my life. I’m scared of the truth like most humans. I’m scared of a disturbed peace of mind. I'm scared about finding out about the gruesome death she probably faced at the hands of the rebels and their cold metal gun. I’m scared of becoming the Christian that holds hatred, resentment, anger, and unforgiveness in my heart because of not being able to figure out why my dad didn't make sure my mom was coming with us.…show more content…
Last summer, there was a moment in which he told me he felt as though I was growing distant, saying “You have family here, too.” Little as this was in terms of communicating, I realized that my father knew my thoughts had been wandering to Liberia, my past, my mother. That moment, not long in terms of time, or words sticks to the back of my mind everyday, and has helped to open my eyes to how fortunate I am in life for a Step-family that loves me like their own. More than anything I am thankful for a father that has given his all in making my siblings, and my life the best it could
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