slacker2114
3rd Level White Feather
- Joined
- Apr 27, 2001
- Messages
- 9,601
- Points
- 38
Author's note: Ok, so I was inspired by a non-story that Jo had written and, after some discussion with her, I decided that putting this down could be like a therapy of sorts. This is an ache that is nearly 4 years old. I'm hoping that by putting it down, it will let me get it off my chest. And after some deliberation on my part, I decided to post it as it makes me feel like I'm actually telling her by sharing it among friends. It's not a cry for attention (fuck you if you think so) nor am I looking for pity. I just needed to let it out somewhere. Thank you for reading.
I remember when I was 3 and I got a splinter embedded in my left eyeball. You stayed calm and kept me calm while you took me to the hospital. You were there with me every day as long as you could be, always with loving and encouraging words for me to get better and come home. Most of the details are lost to the mists of time and a child’s memory, but the main point was always there: you wanted your baby to come home.
I remember you walking me to my first day of kindergarten. I was excited and actually looked forward to it. I overheard you tell the teacher “You’re going to have your hands full with this one” and then you laughed. I laughed too, though I didn’t understand why until years later. I was a willful and independent child that said what he was thinking without any thought of consequences. You used to get furious with some of the things I’d say, but I think deep down, you were proud that I was already capable of speaking my mind.
I remember when I was 6, you brought Mel home from the hospital. My first sibling! I was happy that I was Big Brother. You were always encouraging me to help with her. Though in thinking back now, I think you did that because you wanted me to do a lot of the dirty work that comes with a baby. I suppose it wasn’t so bad but I still think that’s kind of a messed up thing to do to a first grader.
I remember when I was 8, you finally caved in to my demands of being allowed to stay up later and even suggested we watch a movie together. I was so happy about winning the argument, I didn’t even bother to ask what an exorcist was. You laughed your ass off when I screamed at Linda Blair’s head turning a complete 180 degrees. I didn’t sleep for a fucking week after seeing that! Yeah, you got me, mom. Ha ha ha! Little did you know you had just laid the groundwork of my eternal need to pull pranks on everyone I knew.
I remember Christmas morning when I was 10. You weren’t there. Gerry had taken you to the hospital the night before where you gave birth to Tom. Mel and I still tore thru our presents, even though it wasn’t quite the same without you. You thought it was hilarious that Mel and I still demanded a ham dinner for Christmas, so Gerry, nowhere near the cook you were, made us lunchmeat ham sandwiches. And yet, you were so sad that you had missed Christmas with us and to this day, I still believe I heard you crying over it.
I remember the sibling rivalry that started to develop between me and Mel. It pissed me off to no end that you always took her side, even when it was clear the blame was all on her. You always told me I was the older one, I should know better. But when did it stop being dependent on MY age and knowledge and start depending on what she should have been learning? You know, the lessons that I had, in your eyes, already learned. You doted on her because she was the only girl and I was constantly pushed to the side in favor of her. I resented that and resented you for it. And I lashed out by getting in trouble at any and every turn: school, neighbors, around the house, with relatives…anything. It was wrong to constantly show favor to one child over another and I’ll believe that for the rest of my life.
I remember when I was in 5th grade how livid you became when you found out the school shop teacher was physically abusing me for no other reason than that he felt like singling me out. You were at the school the next day, demanding a confrontation with that asshole. And when you learned that this teacher had been before the school board 3 times in previous years for similar incidents, you swore to that dickhead and the fuckwad principal that if he ever laid a hand on me again, it would be his ass. And then, not two days later, the neighbor kid ran home to his mom and said how that very day, that teacher had me in the hallway slamming my head off the lockers. I remember you screaming and crying to Gerry that night after the neighbor told you and you made me confirm it, though I couldn’t quite hear what was being said. And it was very strange to me how the next day, Gerry was home from work. He never took off work! And you were strangely calm that morning. I didn’t know what was happening. What I do know is after that day, that douche bag teacher suddenly was out for about a month. And when he came back, he didn’t come near me. But I figured it out. You made Gerry do what you wanted him to do, what you couldn’t do yourself, which was to give payback to someone who dared to attack one of your babies.
I remember how pissed you used to get when smacking me for fucking up didn’t work anymore. By 15, I was so much bigger than you. You’d punch me in the arm and I’d grab my leg and acted like that was where it hurt. And the dustbuster! Oh man, you were so mad at me that day, you grabbed the dustbuster off the wall and literally broke it over my head. I didn’t even flinch, which pissed you off even more. And then you screamed at me that I made you break it. I laughed and said I didn’t make you use that. Then you reached for that wooden cooking spoon. I’d been hit by one of those by Aunt Sarah enough times to know they hurt like a motherfucker no matter who was swinging it. I damn near broke down the door getting out of the house. And when I’d laughingly bring it up years later, you’d sit there and say “Well, you pissed me off”.
I remember when you came to the high school my senior year to pick out my senior photos. I was so fucking embarrassed when you started crying in front of the students, parents and teachers that were there. When one of the teachers asked you what was wrong, you blubbered “I can’t believe my baby is graduating already”. It was not a good time to be me that day. I took a lot of shit for that. But that was it, wasn’t it? I was the first. Everything a parent can experience for the very first time with all kids, it was me. I would always be the first one. And in retrospect, it makes me feel good to know that despite the rivalry between me and Mel and our constantly butting heads, you still looked at me as your baby. Though I’d never admit that publicly.
I remember when you threw me out when I was 18. I was just out of high school, had no money and nowhere to go. But you didn’t care. You said you never wanted me around you or Mel and Tom ever again. And why? Because I dared to make myself lunch with something you had bought for Mel, never mind the fact that there was never anything in the house that was for me to eat. I swore that day I would never speak to you again. Of all the things you could have justifiably kicked me out for, you chose something like that. I felt betrayed by you that day. Even to this day, that memory still haunts me to some degree. And it most likely always will.
I remember getting that letter from you a year later. I saw the address. I knew that handwriting. I wanted to just throw it away and go about my business. But I couldn’t. I read what you had to say. You told me that you couldn’t stand me being away and us not talking. You practically begged me to call and talk to you, that it just wasn’t a family to you without me. I tried to resist. I really did. Just reading that letter stirred all that anger towards you inside me again. But in the end, I failed. I called. And we talked for 2 hours. We said our pieces and we agreed that I’d come home to visit that weekend. And I have to admit, it was one of the happiest days of my life.
I remember the day, when I was 23, that you called me to help you move out of Billy’s house. I remember yelling at you after hearing about how that son of a bitch was always hitting you, Tom and Mel. You should have told me sooner! Tom was too young to protect himself, Mel had the refuge of her friend’s house, but you…you should have told me. You even made me promise when we went to the house not to do anything, to just get your stuff and leave. I promised against my better judgment. But even that promise meant nothing when that drunken cocksucker hit you not more than 10 feet away from me right before my very eyes! You saved his life that day, though he’d never willingly admit it. When I had my hand around his throat and him off the floor against the wall, I saw and heard nothing. All I could think was that this piece of shit hit my mom, HAS hit my mom, my brother, my sister. I wanted him dead and I wanted to be the one who ended his worthless existence. And I never wanted that on anyone before or since. But somehow, even in a rage, you got thru to me. You made me let him go. For a bit, I was kind of angry at you for stopping me, for sticking up for him. But I understood later why you stopped me. Not for him, never for him. You stopped me because you didn’t want anything to happen to me because of him. You knew me well enough to know you had never seen me that angry before and most likely sensed what I was about to do. You even told me later you never would want me to go to prison over someone like him. Not one of your children. And with that realization came another: it’s for that reason you didn’t tell me sooner. You knew what I would’ve done. But I still disagree with it. I had the right to know. And making Mel and Tom swear not to tell me makes it even more wrong in my eyes.
I remember that day in early November when I called to tell you my grandmom on my dad’s side had died. We talked for over an hour. You told me stories about her from when I was too young to remember and from before I was born. You told me how sad you were to hear she had passed, as you always liked her and thought she was a wonderful lady. I even laughed when you said you could never understand how such a sweet lady could have such an asshole for a son. It was that day also that you told me you took my advice and said fuck being nice and stood up for yourself to Mel’s mother-in-law, for daring to try and tell you how the relationship between you and your own daughter should be. I would say it was probably the most enjoyable phone conversation I had ever had with you. I only wished I had known it would be the last conversation we’d ever have.
I vividly remember that morning: December 23rd, 2004 at 9:17am. I was awoken by the phone ringing. I was irritated and still half-asleep when I answered. No one called me that early, knowing I got home from work at 2:30am. I heard Francis’ voice on the other end and, to my bleary mind, what sounded like laughter on the other end of the phone. I heard him say “Brent, we lost your mother”. You lost her? Well, where did you leave her? I asked still half-asleep. As he began to explain, I realized the “laughter” I heard in the background was actually Mel screaming and crying incoherently. Francis had been working 3rd shift, Tom had left for work already that morning and my sister lived with her husband. You were alone in the bedroom with the dog when the fire started downstairs. A bad rewiring job on the space heater that was in the wash room, courtesy of Francis, had caught fire. By the time you awoke, the smoke was far too thick for you to get down the steps and out the door. I know you were awake because you yourself called the fire department. You were trapped. I often find myself wondering what was going thru your mind in that time. Were your thoughts on us, your children and how you weren’t going to get to say good-bye? Were they on your first grandchild that Mel was still carrying in her belly and how you were never going to see her? I wish so hard you had stayed asleep and never knew what was happening. It kills me every time I realize you had to suffer so horribly before you passed. I take some comfort in that the dog stayed with you to the very end. She made sure you weren’t completely alone. She was a good and loyal pet. Tom and I gave her the proper burial she deserved. That was, and always will be, the worst day of my life.
I remember the funeral. All of Mel’s in-laws, who never liked any of us, seemed to take great pleasure in snubbing and ridiculing us. But I let it go that time. I had to. Mel was pregnant and a mess on top of it all. Her husband couldn’t fully hold her together. Tom was a walking time bomb, ready to go off on anyone that gave him even an imagined excuse. I had to keep them both together. I was the oldest. I had to be the strong one no matter how bad I was hurting. I had to hold it back. And when the time came, the tears wouldn’t come. I’d pushed it down so hard, I couldn’t feel it. I was ashamed of myself. You gave me life and love and I couldn’t even cry for you at your funeral. I felt like a bad son. I should have called you more. I should have visited you more. I should have…been there. And now you’re gone. And I’ll never get the chance to tell you anything.
I remember all the things you did for me. You always acted shocked at my dark humor, but still laughed nonetheless. You protected me when I was too young to do it myself. You comforted me when I was sick. You held me when I was scared. You taught me right from wrong and how to be a gentleman. You dealt with me the best you could during my surly, rebellious teenage years. You advised me in my adult years. And thru all our adversity, you still loved your son.
I remember you, mom. And I love you.
I remember when I was 3 and I got a splinter embedded in my left eyeball. You stayed calm and kept me calm while you took me to the hospital. You were there with me every day as long as you could be, always with loving and encouraging words for me to get better and come home. Most of the details are lost to the mists of time and a child’s memory, but the main point was always there: you wanted your baby to come home.
I remember you walking me to my first day of kindergarten. I was excited and actually looked forward to it. I overheard you tell the teacher “You’re going to have your hands full with this one” and then you laughed. I laughed too, though I didn’t understand why until years later. I was a willful and independent child that said what he was thinking without any thought of consequences. You used to get furious with some of the things I’d say, but I think deep down, you were proud that I was already capable of speaking my mind.
I remember when I was 6, you brought Mel home from the hospital. My first sibling! I was happy that I was Big Brother. You were always encouraging me to help with her. Though in thinking back now, I think you did that because you wanted me to do a lot of the dirty work that comes with a baby. I suppose it wasn’t so bad but I still think that’s kind of a messed up thing to do to a first grader.
I remember when I was 8, you finally caved in to my demands of being allowed to stay up later and even suggested we watch a movie together. I was so happy about winning the argument, I didn’t even bother to ask what an exorcist was. You laughed your ass off when I screamed at Linda Blair’s head turning a complete 180 degrees. I didn’t sleep for a fucking week after seeing that! Yeah, you got me, mom. Ha ha ha! Little did you know you had just laid the groundwork of my eternal need to pull pranks on everyone I knew.
I remember Christmas morning when I was 10. You weren’t there. Gerry had taken you to the hospital the night before where you gave birth to Tom. Mel and I still tore thru our presents, even though it wasn’t quite the same without you. You thought it was hilarious that Mel and I still demanded a ham dinner for Christmas, so Gerry, nowhere near the cook you were, made us lunchmeat ham sandwiches. And yet, you were so sad that you had missed Christmas with us and to this day, I still believe I heard you crying over it.
I remember the sibling rivalry that started to develop between me and Mel. It pissed me off to no end that you always took her side, even when it was clear the blame was all on her. You always told me I was the older one, I should know better. But when did it stop being dependent on MY age and knowledge and start depending on what she should have been learning? You know, the lessons that I had, in your eyes, already learned. You doted on her because she was the only girl and I was constantly pushed to the side in favor of her. I resented that and resented you for it. And I lashed out by getting in trouble at any and every turn: school, neighbors, around the house, with relatives…anything. It was wrong to constantly show favor to one child over another and I’ll believe that for the rest of my life.
I remember when I was in 5th grade how livid you became when you found out the school shop teacher was physically abusing me for no other reason than that he felt like singling me out. You were at the school the next day, demanding a confrontation with that asshole. And when you learned that this teacher had been before the school board 3 times in previous years for similar incidents, you swore to that dickhead and the fuckwad principal that if he ever laid a hand on me again, it would be his ass. And then, not two days later, the neighbor kid ran home to his mom and said how that very day, that teacher had me in the hallway slamming my head off the lockers. I remember you screaming and crying to Gerry that night after the neighbor told you and you made me confirm it, though I couldn’t quite hear what was being said. And it was very strange to me how the next day, Gerry was home from work. He never took off work! And you were strangely calm that morning. I didn’t know what was happening. What I do know is after that day, that douche bag teacher suddenly was out for about a month. And when he came back, he didn’t come near me. But I figured it out. You made Gerry do what you wanted him to do, what you couldn’t do yourself, which was to give payback to someone who dared to attack one of your babies.
I remember how pissed you used to get when smacking me for fucking up didn’t work anymore. By 15, I was so much bigger than you. You’d punch me in the arm and I’d grab my leg and acted like that was where it hurt. And the dustbuster! Oh man, you were so mad at me that day, you grabbed the dustbuster off the wall and literally broke it over my head. I didn’t even flinch, which pissed you off even more. And then you screamed at me that I made you break it. I laughed and said I didn’t make you use that. Then you reached for that wooden cooking spoon. I’d been hit by one of those by Aunt Sarah enough times to know they hurt like a motherfucker no matter who was swinging it. I damn near broke down the door getting out of the house. And when I’d laughingly bring it up years later, you’d sit there and say “Well, you pissed me off”.
I remember when you came to the high school my senior year to pick out my senior photos. I was so fucking embarrassed when you started crying in front of the students, parents and teachers that were there. When one of the teachers asked you what was wrong, you blubbered “I can’t believe my baby is graduating already”. It was not a good time to be me that day. I took a lot of shit for that. But that was it, wasn’t it? I was the first. Everything a parent can experience for the very first time with all kids, it was me. I would always be the first one. And in retrospect, it makes me feel good to know that despite the rivalry between me and Mel and our constantly butting heads, you still looked at me as your baby. Though I’d never admit that publicly.
I remember when you threw me out when I was 18. I was just out of high school, had no money and nowhere to go. But you didn’t care. You said you never wanted me around you or Mel and Tom ever again. And why? Because I dared to make myself lunch with something you had bought for Mel, never mind the fact that there was never anything in the house that was for me to eat. I swore that day I would never speak to you again. Of all the things you could have justifiably kicked me out for, you chose something like that. I felt betrayed by you that day. Even to this day, that memory still haunts me to some degree. And it most likely always will.
I remember getting that letter from you a year later. I saw the address. I knew that handwriting. I wanted to just throw it away and go about my business. But I couldn’t. I read what you had to say. You told me that you couldn’t stand me being away and us not talking. You practically begged me to call and talk to you, that it just wasn’t a family to you without me. I tried to resist. I really did. Just reading that letter stirred all that anger towards you inside me again. But in the end, I failed. I called. And we talked for 2 hours. We said our pieces and we agreed that I’d come home to visit that weekend. And I have to admit, it was one of the happiest days of my life.
I remember the day, when I was 23, that you called me to help you move out of Billy’s house. I remember yelling at you after hearing about how that son of a bitch was always hitting you, Tom and Mel. You should have told me sooner! Tom was too young to protect himself, Mel had the refuge of her friend’s house, but you…you should have told me. You even made me promise when we went to the house not to do anything, to just get your stuff and leave. I promised against my better judgment. But even that promise meant nothing when that drunken cocksucker hit you not more than 10 feet away from me right before my very eyes! You saved his life that day, though he’d never willingly admit it. When I had my hand around his throat and him off the floor against the wall, I saw and heard nothing. All I could think was that this piece of shit hit my mom, HAS hit my mom, my brother, my sister. I wanted him dead and I wanted to be the one who ended his worthless existence. And I never wanted that on anyone before or since. But somehow, even in a rage, you got thru to me. You made me let him go. For a bit, I was kind of angry at you for stopping me, for sticking up for him. But I understood later why you stopped me. Not for him, never for him. You stopped me because you didn’t want anything to happen to me because of him. You knew me well enough to know you had never seen me that angry before and most likely sensed what I was about to do. You even told me later you never would want me to go to prison over someone like him. Not one of your children. And with that realization came another: it’s for that reason you didn’t tell me sooner. You knew what I would’ve done. But I still disagree with it. I had the right to know. And making Mel and Tom swear not to tell me makes it even more wrong in my eyes.
I remember that day in early November when I called to tell you my grandmom on my dad’s side had died. We talked for over an hour. You told me stories about her from when I was too young to remember and from before I was born. You told me how sad you were to hear she had passed, as you always liked her and thought she was a wonderful lady. I even laughed when you said you could never understand how such a sweet lady could have such an asshole for a son. It was that day also that you told me you took my advice and said fuck being nice and stood up for yourself to Mel’s mother-in-law, for daring to try and tell you how the relationship between you and your own daughter should be. I would say it was probably the most enjoyable phone conversation I had ever had with you. I only wished I had known it would be the last conversation we’d ever have.
I vividly remember that morning: December 23rd, 2004 at 9:17am. I was awoken by the phone ringing. I was irritated and still half-asleep when I answered. No one called me that early, knowing I got home from work at 2:30am. I heard Francis’ voice on the other end and, to my bleary mind, what sounded like laughter on the other end of the phone. I heard him say “Brent, we lost your mother”. You lost her? Well, where did you leave her? I asked still half-asleep. As he began to explain, I realized the “laughter” I heard in the background was actually Mel screaming and crying incoherently. Francis had been working 3rd shift, Tom had left for work already that morning and my sister lived with her husband. You were alone in the bedroom with the dog when the fire started downstairs. A bad rewiring job on the space heater that was in the wash room, courtesy of Francis, had caught fire. By the time you awoke, the smoke was far too thick for you to get down the steps and out the door. I know you were awake because you yourself called the fire department. You were trapped. I often find myself wondering what was going thru your mind in that time. Were your thoughts on us, your children and how you weren’t going to get to say good-bye? Were they on your first grandchild that Mel was still carrying in her belly and how you were never going to see her? I wish so hard you had stayed asleep and never knew what was happening. It kills me every time I realize you had to suffer so horribly before you passed. I take some comfort in that the dog stayed with you to the very end. She made sure you weren’t completely alone. She was a good and loyal pet. Tom and I gave her the proper burial she deserved. That was, and always will be, the worst day of my life.
I remember the funeral. All of Mel’s in-laws, who never liked any of us, seemed to take great pleasure in snubbing and ridiculing us. But I let it go that time. I had to. Mel was pregnant and a mess on top of it all. Her husband couldn’t fully hold her together. Tom was a walking time bomb, ready to go off on anyone that gave him even an imagined excuse. I had to keep them both together. I was the oldest. I had to be the strong one no matter how bad I was hurting. I had to hold it back. And when the time came, the tears wouldn’t come. I’d pushed it down so hard, I couldn’t feel it. I was ashamed of myself. You gave me life and love and I couldn’t even cry for you at your funeral. I felt like a bad son. I should have called you more. I should have visited you more. I should have…been there. And now you’re gone. And I’ll never get the chance to tell you anything.
I remember all the things you did for me. You always acted shocked at my dark humor, but still laughed nonetheless. You protected me when I was too young to do it myself. You comforted me when I was sick. You held me when I was scared. You taught me right from wrong and how to be a gentleman. You dealt with me the best you could during my surly, rebellious teenage years. You advised me in my adult years. And thru all our adversity, you still loved your son.
I remember you, mom. And I love you.
