Memories and Memorial Day

Good morning to all,

Today's post may be a bit somber. I am thinking of the upcoming Memorial Day weekend and events that happened nearly three decades ago on said weekend. I was living with my dad in a small house he had built on top an equally small mountain. My bed was located on what was actually the porch and it was built of cinder blocks and plywood. Just a step or two away was the shower that was supplied water from a very large barrel that also sat in the room. Just outside the walls was the generator that dad had built from a car motor to run what electric things we had. Pump for shower and sink water, television and radio, that was the extent of electric ran items.

There was no air conditioning and in the winter the house was warmed by a cast iron stove/fireplace that dad had outfitted in some manner to make it more efficient. I can only remember one very large window which overlooked the gorge in front of which was placed a dining table. This is not only all I remember of it but it is all there was to it. No paint on the walls, no carpet or flooring except the plywood and there was not even an inside toilet.

I lived here briefly and was living there when my mom passed away unexpectedly. It was in that makeshift bedroom, that I slept within when the Sheriff came to the small house on the mountain in the middle of the night. He knocked on the door and my dad heard him before I did. I woke to see the house door open and my dad talking with the Sheriff. He woke me and we first went to the neighbors house then, on into town to my mom's house. I don't remember if I had a key or if we just walked in. It was a small town and often we didn't lock the house.

My brother was not home and it was going to be me and my dad to tell him what happened. The very fact that both of us were in the house when he returned told him something was terribly wrong. Honestly, I don't remember how the words came out but I remember a lot of anger flying through the house. My brother was a bit of a hot head and in the days to come said some very ugly things. According to the angry young man that was my brother, I killed my mom.

To set the record straight, she died of a brain aneurysm. Got a headache, got sick to her stomach, laid on the bed and waited for her boyfriend to bring her a glass of water and aspirin and was gone before he returned. Her boyfriend was Silas, I hope her brought her happiness in those last days. Lord knows she had a rocky life and deserved a little peace. This is where my brother got the idea that I killed her, not that I literally physically killed her but that the stress of me not living there did it.

I suppose now you are wondering why I was not living there at that time. I was sixteen years old and both of my parents were alcoholics. I chose the lesser of two evils you could say. Many people do not know this of my family or me, some guess and some have asked. Some may not want to know for it soils what nice memories they have of her. Just remember she was a single woman, under a lot of stress and up against the world that had been unkind to her. I have forgiven her and I am sure God has.

The other things you may not care to know....both of my parents were abusive in some way. Children of divorce go through terrible wrenching times when the adults can not communicate and deal with each other nicely. This of course holds true even in households where the parents are still married. Our house was always chaotic even before the divorce. Words, people and objects being thrown about were not uncommon. This is why I picked the lesser of two evils. One late afternoon with my friend in tow, I left my house with nothing more than a bag of quickly thrown together items after my mother had slapped me across the face. This was not the first time and she did it while drunk.

I walked out and that was the last time I saw her alive. That night, I first went to my pastors house and he called her to let her know where I was. My friend and I spent at least two nights rambling about, sleeping at different houses where friends would put us up. We did end up at my dad's house and stayed there. All in all, it wasn't bad because he wasn't there a lot. I was allowed to drive the car into town, I did laundry at the laundromat at the next town and I did grocery shopping. He left me alone and I felt like an adult for the first time.

Looking back, I am sure this killed my mom. Not actually killed her, but in spirit I disappointed her for I went and lived with the man who caused her so much grief over the years. Sometimes you do not know of events until decades later for your mind blocks them out. I remember enough and know enough that I steer clear of anything that might resemble abuse whether it be verbal or physical. Breaking the cycle even when you don't remember all the details of your own childhood is not only a healthy thing to do but the only thing to do. Anyone who can not do this on their own needs to see what they are doing, admit it is wrong and get help immediately.

Back to Memorial Day weekend....

I was a senior in high school when my mom died. I had to return to school, take final exams, help pick out my mothers casket and clothes for her to wear, attend a funeral and dinner then, say goodbye to my little town and friends. I did all of this, lost my mom, broke the news to my brother, planned a funeral, took finals and moved all within a few days.

My mother's brother and his family took me in. I didn't need to stay with my dad, it was a good move. I have always loved my aunt and uncle and having them become my family was not only God's answer to my mess of a life but a blessing I enjoy to this day. They did get legal guardianship of me and look over me to this day. They are my rock and foundation.

God bless,
Tera