What do you think of this prologue?

We were poor, but happy. We lived on a fief in northern Ireland, ruled by a wealthy lord. We were peasants, but our lack of wealth never made us unhappy. Even when there was no food in our cupboard. Even when we would have to wait for days for my brothers and father to bring back some dead animals that would for sustain us for, at most, a week. We were never unhappy. Even if my stomach was empty, my mother would always feed my soul with her warmth, beauty, and song. She would twist up her strawberry blond hair and tuck it under a silk kerchief my father gave her at their wedding. Then she would bustle around, cleaning and singing, her green eyes shining. She always said, "I may not have the best, most expensive furniture and the biggest, most beautiful house. But I always have the cleanest house."

During harvest seasons, we would work in the fields to get paid a small sum by the lord. In the fall, when the trees had begun to go bare and the air had begun to get the biting chill of winter, we would work in the fields until dark. In the summer, we would sweat and toil under a sky filled with humidity and threatening clouds. In the fall, the rain would soak right through our clothing and chill us. In the summer, it make the emerald greenery greener and bring some welcome relief from the heat. I remember returning home, my blond hair filled with dirt, to the welcoming embrace of my mother. She would pull me in to her lap, despite the fact that I was almost 10 already. I would gaze up at her adoringly, my brown eyes staring in to her sparkling green. She would whisper stories in my ear from her childhood. I loved stories. I used to dream of one day being an author. Of course, this was before I realized that I never would be taught how to read and write.

My brothers adored my mother just as much as I did, if not more. I remember my brother, Finn, at 12, still loving my mother's hugs. Finn was a small, skinny child, blond-haired and brown-eyed like me. All of us, except for my mother, had blond hair and brown eyes. It's a family trademark. Finn was very weak and would often come home with scratches and bruises. That was until Brendan, my older brother, who at 14, had already hit his growth spurt, came and saw some boys taunting Finn. Needless to say, that was the last time they bothered him.

But Brendan, although fiercely protective, was not a saint. Out of all of us, he was the one who talked back the most to my mother and caused her the most trouble. He would come home and Mother would ask where he was. He would snap back that he was nowhere. Of course, eventually my mother would coax it out of him. Without striking him. Without raising her voice. She would simply say, "Brendan, get back in here. Now." Before she even finished her sentence, he would shuffle back in and confess.

Then, she would say, "Brendan, what do you say?"

And, always, always, as surely as the sun rises and sets, he would grumble, "I'm sorry."

My mother didn't take anything from anyone. That's one of many things I inherited from her. Her spunk and attitude. She always told me, "Maura, the only way to get good treatment in life is to demand it." That's advice I carry with me every day. I walk with my head held high, like I remember my mother doing. If someone wrongs me, I always demand that they right their wrongs. I also inherited my mother's love of storytelling and sense of humor.

And Father? Father used to be always happy. I recall how he always used to come in from a day working at some odd job, whistling a tune. He would come in and start cracking jokes. My mother would be bustling around, working, and he would come and wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her. My mother was always thin and beautiful. She was like a beautiful weeping willow tree, draping over us, protecting us. My mother was our glue.

But, one day, she fell ill. She was sick for weeks. All the warning signs were there. She coughed a lot and was constantly taking naps. The signs were very subtle. She didn't let it show. But, in the last week, she was so sick that she could barely get out of bed. One day, she fell asleep and never woke up. I still wonder if I could have saved her by noticing the signs earlier and getting her care earlier.

That day, our glue melted. Something within our family shifted. My father became meaner. Controlling. Unhappy. My brothers grew obnoxious and cruel. And me? I became squashed in the middle, the one subjected to their unhappiness. But I power through. That's what led me to today.