Is This A Memoir? Entry 3

Mom never discussed the loss of her first baby or the events of that day much after that, maybe once or twice she brought it up to me later in life. Matter of fact now that I think about it I don’t believe my younger brother even knows of her first pregnancy and the fate of that baby. I mean what could she really say about it? No, Im sure the punishment of her decision was enough on her conscious for the remainder of her life.  Theres no question my mom loved my dad, and it wasnt long after that that she forgave him, honestly probably too quickly in my opinion. She became pregnant with me a year later and they finally got married. They said their vows in the same church where they met, and for a while dad held true to his come back as a faithful hard working husband, and not to far down the road mom gave birth to me, I was born on October second 1981, and I remember fragments of things up until I was about three. I can remember dad throwing me up in the air and how it took my breath until he caught me again. I remember how I would wait at the front door on him to get home from work and how I would pull my nose up to peek over the flimsy metal bottom that lined the cold frosted glass, and how it made my nose wet as I pressed my face against it to see through the fog. Every day I would wait on him, and when I would catch a glimpse of him starting up the sidewalk I knew it was time to ride my horse. That man gave me pony rides every evening religiously. I loved my dad, he was good to me. I was always a scared child for some reason and my mom always a hard woman, she would tuck me in my bed at night and threaten me if I got up, and for the longest time I would lay there crying so scared that I would actually get physically sick. I would cry and beg for her to let me sleep with them, but it got to the point to where she would start yelling and spanking me if I didnt stay put once she put me in bed. Well, little did she know that at night dad would wait on her to fall asleep then he would pull out an old small mattress from under their bed, and there Id quietly crawl on my hands and knees over to it pulling my blanket behind me, ever so steadily so as to not wake her, then dad would tuck me in after Id get situated where he’d keep his hand on my back all night long so I wouldn’t be scared. It’s amazing, even to this day I remember the fear against the contrast of feeling safe by him. I don’t know where all my fear at that young of age came from, I mean up unto that point I had never seen my parents fight, I was happy with our atmosphere from a child’s prospective. However, all of that was soon to change. I remember the first big fight mom and dad had, I remember standing in my playpen, dad was on one side of me and my mother on the other behind a bar that devided the kitchen from the living room. I remember them screaming at the top of their lungs at eachother, I remember me screaming in between. Then out of nowhere mom pulled out a huge glass punch bowl and threw it over my head at my dad, the sound of glass shattering against that trailer wall echos still in my mind. I remember it like it was yesterday, and from that point on their fighting became a nightly routine. Everything became dark, I got less horse rides, less laughter. They both became abusive, I can still see them hitting each other. One time my grandparents had to intervene, they lived right over the hill from us, my grandma came and picked me up out of my playpen, she screamed at the both of them “I dont care if you two want to kill eachother, but you’re not gonna do it in front of this baby” My dad told me what she said that day all these years later when I asked him about that memory. Then there was my grandpa who felt the need to lay his two cents in the situation, he told dad he needed to take my mom out back and beat the devil out of her. Which coming from him wasnt sound advice to begin with, he himself was so mean to my grandmother, that is until later in life when he finally gave his heart to God. Yes, that time period was truly the start of what felt like a war on my life. I didnt ask for it, but life would sure see fit for me to put on my gloves in ready or not style and stand on the front lines waiting on the rounds of my future. I always wondered what it would’ve been like if I would’ve been able to just be that innocent little girl. The one who didnt have to fight for every day to come without confusion. The one who could dance in her mirror in princess dresses and enjoy daily snuggles from her parents. All I ever wanted, all I ever asked for was a sense of belonging, a sense of normal. 

To be continued…