Hang On Tight

1/29/18
My dad passed 12 years ago, my mom 9. Both relationships weren't easy. My dad and mother lived in an abusive struggle  when he was drinking, which seemed to be all the time. When you are children, living around this kind of atmosphere, it's normal. you don't know a different way. There's many ways to be abusive, verbal mental, physical, negligence and it all leaves a scar, some deeper than others. My mother one day turned into someone we didn't know. Whether it was from what she suffered at the hands of my father probably did contribute, but as I grew I realized too my mom wasn't a nice person either, she had her own issues. I am the middle child, out of 4. The oldest a boy, the brilliant one, than me, then my sister 3 years younger who was the baby and then little brother born 7 years later, now he was the baby. I don't remember a lot of my childhood, some have memories of me that I don't remember. What I can remember is that my mother loved me less than my other siblings. I will never know the truth, and is it even important now, to know why, there was coldness; the lack of affection? Had there been some sort of connection, maybe I would of opened the door to other emotions too know something other than the coldness, but it was more like a poison, seeping into me, around me, slowly, taking little bits of me every time a cruel word was spoken:and my young self valiantly standing up to it.  I tried to be less of a burden never asking for anything when we went to the stores, sitting in corners so she wouldn't have to yell at me for something I might do wrong. I had to be 7-9 years old. I would wake up on weekends and clean the whole house from top to bottom, mopping, cleaning, washing. While my brothers and sisters were playing, I would do this for months. Not because I was told too, but because I thought I could get her to notice me. After a couple months, of doing this, with no reaction I stopped. I never got a thank you, all I got was why did you stop? And never again did I help out to that extent. The others noticed the different way I was treated but when one is young, "it's better her than me". My dad tried to protect me from her coldness ,but she stopped him from that. I know now that she had issues and I was the one bearing the brunt of it all. I would try to tell everyone how she was but they would always say it was just me. In their later years divorced, my dad fell ill. I was the one that took him to the hospital and visited him every day, and every day I would cry and he would cry until he told the family to please not send me. But I wouldn't allow it, that was my dad. I did stop the tears saving them for the drives home, until one day, he was able to leave the hospital. he had not been in our lives for the choices he had made but as I became an adult, our relationship was getting stronger, and he was someone that I could talk to. when he passed, I cried so hard, for he was becoming the dad I had needed and wanted. I couldn't even look at his picture for a year afterwards, it would send me into a crying spell it hurt so deep. Now years later I do have a picture of him on my mantel. Now after my dad had passed a few years later, my mom fell ill. I tried to be her caretaker, but there were no longer any veils, no more pretending. I told the family, that I couldn't be her caretaker. And again it was all me. So my sister took over, and one day she said  I see what you mean . Small vindication but I still was not going to be her caretaker. It is sad now to remember when the nurses would try to rouse her in her hospital bed, she would say our names, and she would make some sort of response to everyone's name but mine. It would become awkward. I couldn't even cry at her funeral. If I cried, it was tears for myself. My love for her as my mom, was frozen because my heart had been hurt so bad so young. She was a stranger to me. I always had to have a wall up to avoid pain even 40 years later.  Could she have seen my light and been afraid of it? Knew that I could see inside her heart, her fears, if I got too close? Was I already so sensitive but I had no way of knowing to shield/protect myself from her?  She would tell this story; We were coming down a hill and in those days my dad had a station wagon, no seat belts. the car was going pretty fast and my mom told us to hang on tight.  when my dad finally reached the bottom of the hill, my mom turned around and there I sat with my little arms wrapped around myself. She told the story as a funny antidote, but I see it now as a prophecy. I was already protecting my self, that little unloved girl, so full of light, knowing the one true person that could love her was herself.