Some title huh? But unfortunately, true.
My mother was a smart, beautiful woman deeply troubled. When my mother slept, she had such violent dreams that she screamed, moaned and fought in her sleep. I cry writing this because until the age of 45 so did I.
My mother and her sister were left to be raised by relatives where the two of them suffered hungry times. It was the “depression” and during the 1920’s the country was hungry, but these relatives lived and worked a farm. I know of chickens because mom would tell me about how she and her sister were always given the chicken feet to eat and never the plentiful parts of the bird. She developed a disorder about food.
She left the farm and headed to Harlem where she met and married her first husband. They soon had two boys and a girl. He and his family were unkind to my mother. I don’t want to paint a picture that my mother was a willing victim. My mother was the prettiest woman you’d ever get your ass whoop from. But, I think because her past was difficult for her to verbalize to me she would get angry and sad if I pressed too hard. I pieced together my mother with help from my siblings over the years. After my mother had my sister, she left the boys and fled NY. Five years later she met and married my father and that marriage produced my brother and myself. My father was hard working eventually owning his own business. All children want to know from where they start, and my sister was no different. At thirteen she and her best friend skipped school and travelled to NY to visit a father she knew nothing about. It was a short visit which just coincidentally coincides with her addiction to alcohol (her story, but she is sober today for many years).
I work to heal myself and doing so crushing this cycle of illness my mother’s past sicken her mentally and emotionally. When we know better, we do better!