My father was an alcoholic (not a hardcore, but it still counts) when I was a kid. That is why he had some fights with my mother and grandmother and, when I was 10 or so, he left the house. The reason? He had a gun, which was a gift from a friend, hidden in the house. Grandma found it. And what did she do? She went to the market and replaced it for potatoes. Seriously. The father was so angry that he left the house. Parents never asked for a divorce, but we have lived apart for some time, sometimes without a contact until my grandparents died, and it did so within 2 years.
Afterwards they were reconciled, and I moved with my mother and older brother to live in his father's house in an older part of town. I was a kid when we were separated, I have not thought too much about anything, I spent time with friends playing football and I was very happy. But after a few years you realize how much, in fact, father's support was needed at times.
I lost my brother ten years ago, died of a heart attack. It was the saddest and most painful day of my life and it's changed a lot. I was not an only child, I had a brother, although I often concealed that fact because I never wanted anyone to pity me.
My brother was 11 years older than me, he was my role model, my second father in the absence of the right. I lost him, but got my old man back.
Since then I have an unbreakable relationship with my family because we all know what we passed through and that we are each other's greatest support in life.
The only thing that bothers me is that they keep checking on me everytime I go out, they want to check if I was OK, but I understand them. I love my mom, she was with me all my life and I don't know what would I do without her.
They mean evertything in the world to me.