breath

Processing the past helps me put it away

When my brother, sister, and I were very young, we used to beg our mother to marry the preacher at our church. She was married to our father. How fucked up is that? Little kids begging their mother to marry someone we thought would be good and kind. How bad must our home life have been that we were begging our mother to be married to someone else?

When I was 8, my mother filed for divorce. I begged her not to do it. I knew that my father wouldn’t live long without my mother to take care of him. I honestly don’t know how he didn’t kill himself or someone else driving blackout drunk all those years, anyway. Because my mother viewed me as her peer instead of a child, she listened to me and stayed with my father. I don’t know that we would have been any better off if she had gone through with it. She made zero effort to parent, so we may have been worse off. Who knows? I know as soon as my dad left her when my brother was 12 and my sister was14, my sister was in a horrible accident and was in the hospital for 30 days, 11 were in ICU. That was because we all always did whatever we wanted. People in our little town gossiped about us. They said my mother let her children run wild. Because she did. I was 18 when this happened and had left for college. I was so happy to be out of that goddam mess, I seldom went back. I only go there once a year now for Thanksgiving. When my mother dies, I will never go there again. 

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