You Never Asked Me

My Mother was a great woman, she loved us as best she knew how. All four of us, and I was the oldest when my father was brutally murdered at the young age of 29 yrs. old. So, there she was at 28 yrs old and four kids to raise. In those days everyone was poor at least everyone that we knew. The days of depression were never kind to us. Iknow this is a story that I have always wanted to write, but never could! Can you imagine to go a whole lifetime and keep it all inside. All of it, because who really wants to listen to someone else's problems. And better yet, I was embarassed my whole life because of it. Now I have somwhat come this far and I can finally talk about it.

My Mom throughout those hard years would often say to us "I should have given you all up for adoption at that time" The Social Workers asked me if I wanted to but I just couldnt. I always wondered what that would have been like. A new home, a family, food to eat, a bed of my own. What is this adoption thing? Is this an answer for all of us who are basically becoming the "Dysfunctional" galley of madness. How do children cope with this. Fact is they never do and they cry from places where no one is allowed to go. Better yet, we dont even ask you for sympathy or understanding you could never feel how we feel. And yet most do not ask because it takes to much time to deal with the problems that each one of us had and still do. Life doesnt change all that much. A therapist would tell you if you dont get off the train you will ride the same tracks forever. What the hell does Ms. Stanford University Grad know about what it takes if anything to get off the beaten path. And you get beat up enough, its common practice to expect it. AT times I felt like a martyr, I was little Ms Mom and she owned me. You learn how to be independent, secretive of yourself, your feelings and you never step out of the cacoon you made just for you to hide in. That little place that is yours alone, wrapped up as tight as canned spam. I learned to feel very sorry for my mother, she worked two jobs raising us. I took care of my brothers. One who had turned 1yr. old when my father died. Oh yes, I was called to the hospital that night when he was in ICU. Its rather strange how you look at things when you are a kid, you see with your own eyes which is enough of a great picture. Then you listen to the gossip outside of it all. It is the gossip that never leaves you, the sadness of your world dramatically bowling over into torrment. I used to hear her cry every night for over a year. And the most frightening thing that I never forgot is how she nailed down those old windows so no one will get in. Her fears became mine and the lightening and thunder made me run into the closet and still to this day that is where I am in the storm. She was terrified of those electrical storms and would cover the windows with sheets so we wouldnt see that much of it.

Tomorrow, tomorrow