When I was very small three and four....the only memories I have of my parents together are bad ones...I remember my dad being so angry at my mom that he threw a seagull sculpture from the bathroom across the kitchen and it smashed into a million pieces right in front of me in my high chair. I remember knowing that my mom and dad were mad at each other, or mad at me sometimes I didn't know which it was. I went to the porch and picturesque scene really, gorgeous orange sunset, front porch down south, cow fields on either side and the smell of the river...I saw my dad through the screen door sitting alone with his hands over his face...I knew that my mom would scratch my dads back when he had a long day, so I went outside and touched his back and "Daddy, do you want me to scratch your back?", all i remember is him throwing his hands in the air and telling me "Get back in the house with your mother!"...I ran, hid in my room (as I often did), and cried holding a picture of my grandmother. The picture was something I clung to when I was scared, when I was lonely, and especially when my parents would fight. I remember the picture so vivid in my mind (one of the few things I can picture without any strain). It was a faded picture her hair was much longer than the grandma I knew then, her hair was dark brown and wavy, she wore a lavender shirt, her eyes sparkled and her smile was warm and inviting. I always found comfort when I would hold onto that picture and cry. I would talk to it like it was my only friend in the world. The night that my parents split up I sat outside their bedroom door, and I heard them arguing and my mom was crying. I knew that this time this fight would be the end of what I knew to be my family. My four year old body trembled as I began to cry bulging tears. I slid down the wall and buried my face in my lap. I heard their voices raising, and it was too much. I ran to my room grabbed my grandmothers picture and buried myself in a pile of stuffed animals. I remember when dad left and mom came into my room, she wanted to hug me and I guess talk about what was going on. I pulled away, I was angry with her..."I want grandma!" I begged her to take me to grandma's. She then stood up began to walk away, jerked her head back around and snapped at me "Fine, you want grandma, I will take you to your grandma!" At this time in her mind I am sure it felt hopeless and painful that her husband was leaving for someone else, and now even her four year old wanted someone other than her. Yes, I feel bad now for wanting my grandma, but she was who made me feel safe. She made me feel like everything was okay. While I was with grandma, it was just her and I. There were no elephants in the room, or tension in the air..it was just giggles, hugs, and fun. When I tell my mom this story, in so many words not in the detail I have written here, she says she never knew I heard them arguing that night, or she would have made sure I was away from ear shot. Mom used to say that no matter where I was she would here me crying if I was in trouble, where was she then I can remember many nights lying awake thinking, why didn't she hear me that night?
When we moved in with my grandma shortly after that night...I remember my mom sitting on her bed, she was crying, again I can remember a bedside table light on and for some reason the color peach shines around the bed and curtains in my mind, he hair glistened in the light from the lamp, and her back was facing the door. I crawled onto the bed beside her and wrapped my arms around her. I whispered to her that "Everything will be okay mommy." I rested my head on her arm and concealed my tears from her the best I could. I knew then that things were never going to be that same, and they weren't. My mom began to work longer hours and was away a lot of the time. I loved the time with grandma, and it made us so much closer than we already were, but I still missed my mom. I remember when I would lay awake waiting for her return from a weekend away for work, and I would plan a theatrical greeting for her when she would walk through the door, I would practice in between grandma's check ins. I would lie my head on my pillow and close my eyes and pretend mom was walking through the door. I then would throw off the sheet and leap out of bed, then race to the door way hugging my imaginary mom and say "oh how I missed you, you have been gone too long." Then I would hear my grandma's footsteps, I would race back to bed, and pretend to be looking at my picture book. She would update me on how much longer it would be until mom would be home and tell me to be a good girl. When I hear my mom come through the door and place her suitcase down, I tossed my book aside, and slid deep under the sheets. As her footsteps approached I tried to make my eyelids as smoothly sleep like that I could, peeking of course to see when she entered the room. Her shadow appeared at the entry way and there she stood, and wasn't she beautiful I did my dramatic greeting, minus the speech about her being gone for too long and instead just buried my head in her tummy. I remember the smell, she has such a pretty perfume, and many times she was away I would spray her perfume on my pillow or arm just to help me fall asleep when she was gone. That I can honestly, but painfully say is one of my very very few memories of my mom as a child. I remember being young, but it seemed inside me there was something different than the kids at school, and than what I led on to my family. I would play kitchen and mock how my grandma would tidy up before my great grandma would visit. In side I would be so serious and really thought that I was cleaning my "kitchen" for company. Then my grandma asked what I was doing... I said so grown up and just like her "I am cleaning up, because mom is coming over." (talking about great grandma) She laughed and commented on how cute or silly or something like that, and I immediately was devastated...I thought I was helping. It was things like this that were just so odd when I look back on them. I was so upset because I hated being a child being thrown in my face, and thats exactly how I felt even then!? I was five maybe six, why would I care, I was a child. That is not the only instance that I remember being a child offending me...........
Anyway i will add to this post later...trust me there is much more I want to write about. Thanks for reading.
