"Justin, wake up, breakfast!" And that's how my mornings used to start, before my mom got sick.
She was beautiful, all the way through, except for one thing: my dad. That was her worst quality-the fact that she was with him. She was the kind of person who would happily do anything to help anyone, no matter how big the task, or who the person. My dad was the complete opposite. A complete ass hole, who couldn't even help himself let alone anyone else.
He wasn't even there on the day of her funeral. No, he was passed out drunk in the living room when I got home. And I haven't really spoken to him since.
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