Mothers

About two days ago, I realized that I was avoiding this blog.  No. It wasn’t because I felt like a prisoner to it, nor was it due to an evaporation of all ideas.  I stayed clear due to the topic: Mother’s Day.  I honour this day so much!  However, this is probably not for the reason you might think.

My mother died on April 15, 2000.  She was 63 and had a heart attack that killed her at home.  I forgot how I got word but, of course, it was a blow, even if a hollow one.

You see, Mom and I were never close.  I do remember a handful of good times but that is about all.  In addition, it is hard for me to say that. I loved my mother but she beat and berated me until I despised myself and the very feel of my own skin, so thoroughly, that I first tried to commit suicide at 13 or 14.  I was locked in the basement shortly after I had swallowed a whole bottle of over-the-counter pain relievers. The fighting, yelling, kicking and crashing of dishes became too much for my nerves and my hands shook incessantly.  I did not plan to overdose that day but when the hitting started, I did this with no thought at all.

I will write more on this later. I am not sure how I even feel about saying this much. I do not want to be stigmatized by these tragic events. I love life and have grown emotionally to such a degree, I sometimes find it hard to recognize this new life as the evolution of mine from decades ago.

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