I suppose I should start at the beginning. At the age of seventeen my mom became pregnant with me – on purpose. Her home life was a kind of hell you don’t even want to imagine. Her escape was a matter of life and death. Our relationship has often been rocky. I love her. She is after all, my mom.
Her nightmarish journey began at the tender age of two. That is when her uncle started molesting her. He was often allowed to babysit her. Imagine the “shock and awe” when she overheard her mother and her aunt talking about the fact that he had tried to molest others in the family. Her mother knew! And yet time after time she was left in his care. She often heard her mother telling people how she was a mistake. Not wanted. To add insult to injury, her alcoholic father raped her when she became a teenager. Her much older sisters treated her poorly. My mom often felt invisible.
One day when she was eleven and desperately needing her mother’s attention, she threatened to eat wasp larvae if her mom would not give her two minutes of her time. My grandmother was paying bills at the time and promptly informed my mom that she had no time for her. My mom went outside and collected the larvae from the hive and walked right into the kitchen where she fried those bad boys. Certainly her mother loved her enough to stop her. Didn’t she? She sat down across from her mother, plate in hand with tears streaming down her face. She just knew if given one more chance her mother would look up lovingly and stop her from doing this foolish thing. It was not to be. That wretched woman never even looked over at my mom.
Do you understand now why it was a matter of life and death? It didn’t take long for me to understand that they just didn’t give a shit about her. By the time I was six, I dreaded going to family parties. My mom was the family scapegoat. Their favorite past time was to make my mom feel horrible about herself. Not one single time did we leave those parties without my mom being a puddle of tears and a bundle of self loathing. How I hated those people. Burning in hell wouldn’t be good enough for them. I wanted to light the damn fire myself!
This is going to have to be a stopping point for me tonight. 5:30 will be here before I know it. I get up with my 12 year old every morning.
Until we meet again.
Crying can feel like dying – one drop at a time.