The bottle
My dad always drank. He and that bottle of whiskey were best friends. My mom tried to stop him many times but he would hit on her if she even dared to touch his bottle. My mom would take as many hits as she could as long as that meant he wouldn't touch my siblings and me. But no matter what she was always a good mom. She could have bruises on her body and be sore and tired from working but she always made time for us. She always made our situation better than it was.
Even though my dad was an abusive alcoholic I still had some type of love for him. But all that went out the window on April 3rd, 2011. Now I hope that piece of shit rots in hell.
