Week 7: Who's the First Person You Remember?

The first person I remember, like most people I think, is my mother. My first memory of her (My first memory in the truest sense actually) isn't exactly what one would call pleasant, though I don't really find fault with her for it. As the story goes, I had been put down for a nap and had been sleeping peacefully when my mom stepped out to get a jug of milk from the store that was, quite literally, down stairs.

Of course Murphy would have it that I woke up not soon after her leaving.

After what seemed like a life time of being alone and freaking out over not being able to find my mother, she came back and found me running about like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off. I vaguely remember her setting something down, presumably the jug of milk, and rushing over to pick me up. This is what I remember most, on this and multiple occasions when I'd gone and hurt myself or managed to be upset; her picking me up and trying to help settle what ailed me. My mother was and is a hard woman, somewhat by necessity, but she has her moments when that exterior cracks. I think, though, that she was that way mostly for our protection as well as her own. Being a single mother, after all, is a difficult thing.