Saturday, June 11, 2011

Doing the Right Thing

I opened my eyes to and looked around...then the dread came to clain me once again....it was true, Jeff was dead. Today I would have to summon up all of the courage I had and allow people who really didn't know us or our family to bury my son. They would put him in a deep, dark hole and bury him forever. Why? What was the point of life if we are all to end up in death. The tears streamed down my face. I didn't care. Mary Kay had left my life days ago and my identity had been swallowed up by this mass confusion and this lack of sleep. It would be another day of people saying nice things, of holding me, of touching me. Trudy would be there, Teresa would be there, and my Katie Aronin would be there- but would they be enough? Could they stop me from throwing myself on the casket and fighting to keep my son's body here with me. I thought of running- of getting in the car and running and never coming back. Afterall, I had failed and surely if I failed one child, I would fail another. I didn't want to face the people who hated me- the Jeffites...the people who believed all of the lies...who took him in and away from me. But I had no choice. I've never had a choice. Never ever had to be anything but responsible and today I was sick of it. Sick of doing what was expected and needed. I was always obedient- always doing what I was told- always protecting children from the idiots who claimed to be their parents. And now this...now I was the idiot and somehow I'd failed and God had taken my son from me. A son that I had given up every hope and dream for. A son who I'd gladly have died for instead of this pain. A son I'd sat in the rain for, nursed when he was ill, been humiliated by, shared life and love and now death. Where was his smile. Where was his voice? Where was the reward of a job well done. It was in death. It was gone. And now so was I. I wouldn't run, I'd do what I was told, but this time it wouldn't turn out well- it would turn out badly...forever...forever it would suck and I would have to do what I was told.
For as long as I can remember, I have been afraid. I have a memory of being harmed as a young child, vivid memories of sex, and always knowing that if you were a good girl, people would love you. I came from alcoholic parents who never seemed to be convicted that their kids came first, that morals mattered, that being loved and cared for were more important than the almighty dollar, or a lovelife for them. Oh, they loved us to be sure, but I never felt protected- never felt safe.My mother worked her fingers to the bone, trying to provide for us. She loved us with all her being, but was so misguided in what love really was, that her morals shrouded even the small trust I had in her abilities to parent properly. My father was so much worse. He made tons of money, but never shared it in child support or helped our mother parent in any significant way. He cheated on my mother always, and I remember as a little girl laying in my bed, listening to the giggles of him with women who were not my mother. His answer to life was to work all he could, buy all he could, have sex all he could, and have children who performed everything in excellence so he could occassionally brag on us.
 It became apparent to me early on that if my siblings were going to have any kind of childhood, that I had to protect them from these morons, and parent them myself. And that was no easy task. I hid them as my drunken father tried to shoot my mother. Kept them at bay in another room when Mom tried to OD on sleeping pills because she just couldn't deal with life. Never shared with them the letter from the sanitarium that she loved us, but just couldn't be our mother. Stayed up late calling bars to find them, to figure out how or what we would eat for dinner. Pulled a wagon six miles into town for my mother, loaded down with my siblings, to chase my father down, and confront him on his latest affair- embarrassing to a ten year old. Wore trashed clothes or clothes that no one else wore, and taught myself to sew to have pants long enough so that my peers wouldn't tease me. Told a man I wouldn't do naughty things with him while I (at nine years old)babysat his children (he later raped a girl in Texas).Endured countless drunken sporting events where my dad yelled at me to get "my *ss up and jump farther"-only to decide that being embarrassed totally outweighed being a success in sports.Watched as they made the heroic decision to divorce, and tell us it was for the best. Then later watched them go through a string of affairs and thinking that there had to be something better than this. I got a job at fifteen, lied about my age, and began to get what we needed, and take care of my sisters the best I could. At the time, my childhood didn't seem so bad. It seemed normal. All of my friends had idiots for parents- everyone interested in doing whatever to make them feel good. It was the age of swingers, shakers, and movers. It was the age of abortion, burn the bra, and technologiacal genious. It was also the beginning of moral decay in a society that desperately needed morality especially for children.
To escape- I married a young, an alcoholic and soon, unbeknowst to me,a cocaine addict. I had two beautiful children, but the unhappiness was so apparent in both of us, and I longed so for a normal life.We were doomed to have a failed marriage from day one. I yelled and demanded from him what he was too drunk and young to give. He retalliated by hitting me one July 4th, and I left him, filed for a divorce, assumed all the debt.  I picked myself up by the bootstraps, did what I always did, took care of my kids, parented them , went to church, and got miraculously saved. I gave to God what I'd longed to give to someone- my whole being. And I began to build for my children the childhood I had always longed for and be the parent I'd always dreamed of having. I became the wife that would make any husband proud.
Then I became obediant to God. Following His every call. And finally, I could see the rewards, the rewards, of trusting and giving up , and having a life that most people dream of. I did what was right and although there were hard times, there was never a sense of dread- never a sense of complete loss and devestation- never no hope. Even when Bill died, I had hope. Even when I lost my babies, even when my Mom died, there was hope, but I didn't have it now. I didn't have it today. Hope died with Jeff, and so did my obedience, my trust, and my love.
 And so I put on my new black dress, not from Goodwill, but a store bought dress. I looked in the mirror and saw an empty woman devoid of joy and I walked away- away from that awful look. I went downstairs and slid past the crowd, past the caring, past the love, and I did what I only know to do. I looked at Katce, and held her in my arms,  watched my children recoil into their grief, saw my husband hold his confusion deep in his heart, and I got in the car to bury my son.

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