The Last Time I Tell This Story

This is the last time I will tell this story.

I need my mother’s love.

I knew this all of my life and
It is still true today.

I need my mother’s love.

She was beautiful and I would have told
her so if I wasn’t so afraid she’d hit me.

I need my mother’s love.

I didn’t like Ice Capades but I would’ve
joined her to watch a show about
Barbara Ann Scott, her favourite skater.

I need my mother’s love.

When she scooped me up in her arms after
Dad kicked over the coffee table and
scalded me with tea, I knew it for sure.

I need my mother’s love.

I tried to do everything right –
With every ounce of energy my
little self could muster. If only
the rules didn’t keep changing;
I just couldn’t keep up.

I need my mother’s love.

When Mom let me visit a friend’s house,
For the first time, I saw what a normal
family was like–laughing, hugging, and
no yelling. They were so wonderful to
me. I relaxed and was happy there.
I never wanted to go home.

I need my mother’s love.

Mom is the main reason I didn’t
have kids. When I read that the abused
become abusers, it left an indelible
mark on my brain. I knew I couldn’t
live with myself if I did that to my kids.

I need my mother’s love.

When I was seventeen, two of their friends
raped me. Days later, I was so full of
anguish, I called Mom for help. I never,
ever thought she might be involved–that
they’d make good on their daily threats to
violate me as well. “They hurt me,” I said, sobbing.

I need my mother’s love.

On a Sunday drive to the cheese factory,
they wouldn’t stop the car so I could pee.
At home hours later, they mocked me as I
fell out of the car. I couldn’t walk.
He wouldn’t carry me upstairs. My pain was
so bad, I had to squat in broad daylight,
at the tree by a classmate’s house.

I need my mother’s love.

“I can’t for the life of me figure out why
you kids let people push you around,” Mom
said, over a Tim Horton’s coffee. In an
internal rage, I screamed long and loud.

I need my mother’s love.

On a visit to see Steve, we called Mom
and, after I built up the courage, I asked
if the three of us could get together.
“Nope,” she said, giggling. A lump
sprang to my throat. Somehow, I knew
that I would never lay eyes on
her again. I never did.

I need my mother’s love.

The last time we spoke on the phone,
she shocked me by saying, “I never
Thought you’d turn out to be so caring.”
Saying nothing, I realized that it
surprised me even more.

I need my mother’s love.

Mom died thirteen years ago.
Yet I can’t seem to shake her
Belief that there is something
Really wrong with me, to be
Rejected by the woman whose
body gave me the first breath
of life. Yes. Still . . .

I need my mother’s love.

 

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One Reply to “The Last Time I Tell This Story”

  1. Hi, That was very moving. My heart has felt like it has dropped to my feet. Just hearing how you got through it makes me feel hopeful. I have gone through a lot of abuse myself growing up. some include physical and sexual. I was molested by my step dad from age 2 to 6.. shortly after maybe 61/2 I was taking into Foster Care. I have a twin sister who has gone through a lot as well…and because all the abuse it had mentally messed us up.
    Thank you for your story

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