About 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys are sexually assaulted in the United States. So you probably know someone who it has happened to. They probably dont talk about it. It might be the hardest thing to talk about. It is so hard to talk about that I didnt tell anyone until I was an adult. And I still havnt told that many people… until now. Monsters are supposed to hide under your bed. They lurk in the dark and wait until no one is around to attack. My monster lurked in the dark too. He still does. He just isnt in MY nightmare anymore.
I remember meeting him. I called him Dad almost immediatly. I wanted a dad and I was finally going to have one. I was seven years old. He was charming and funny. Everyone liked him. He had daughters of his own that he was close to. He had grandkids who loved him. There was nothing to worry about.
My dad died when I was three. But now this man came into our lives promising to make our family whole. My mom wanted a father for us. He coached my basketball teams. He took us out on boat rides. He swam with us in the pool. He cooked and joked and played.
But then there were the other things. The moments that were uncomfortable and you couldnt tell why. It was always accidental touching. We would be playing but very often you were being touched in ways that made you uncomfortable. There were the times when you would see parts of him you didnt want to see, and always “on accident”. As a child, you ignore things like that. You try to forget them. You think it was accidental.
Then there are the things that you know are on purpose but it is so awful that you wont let your brain compute it. I would wake up with my monster beside my bed. I would wake up to being touched. When I would wake up he would stop. I usually just stirred like I was going to wake up to get him to go away. But I always knew what was going on. Maybe somehow I knew that it was unsafe to let him know that I knew what he was doing. Maybe I was too embarassed to face it. Maybe both.
There was one night where I jumped when I realized that he was in my room. He asked me, “Why did you jump?” I said, “Oh, I just didnt expect to see anyone.” Of course I was jumping because I was scared to see him there. He left because I had seen him.
I never told anyone. Why didnt I tell anyone? At the time I dont think I wanted to admit that this was happening. I didnt want everyone looking at me and asking me questions. I didnt want to make this huge upheaval in my family.
Thank God, someone else was braver than me in my family. When he said something inapproproiate to them they told. At first, everything was downplayed. He apologized to us for what “we thought” he said. But all in all it was a denial. At first as a family we brushed it off. We accepted his explanation that it was all a misunderstanding. Fortunately my mom saw the truth and made him admit it. They went to therapy under the guise that they were working on things. My mom was really wanting things on record. He admitted to the therapist that he was planning on raping us. My mom kicked him out. He had adopted us. If he wanted to he could have had a right to shared custody. My mom threatened that he give up his rights or she would tell his family, friends, and employer. Still, no one knew what he had done to me.
And then I reacted in a way that makes no sense. I cried. I told my mom that he was sorry. I didnt want them to get divorced. To this day, I dont know why I wanted him to stay. Now I am so thankful that he was removed from our lives. It just goes to show that children are fragile and confused.
I still didn’t tell anyone what he did to me. I stayed quiet. I honestly put it out of my head all together. I never talked about it for the next 7 years, to anyone. Then one day I was sitting in a hole in the wall restaurant with my mom and her friend. I was 21 and we were having margaritas. I don’t remember what we were talking about but all of those memories came flooding back. All of a sudden I was sitting there and saying to myself, “Omg, those are things that happened to me.” Even though I remembered, I still didn’t tell my family. What if they thought I was making it up? What if they didn’t believe me? What if this destroyed my mom?
I used to daydream about what I would do if I ran into him. I was shopping at a grocery store once when I was playing it through my mind. Pick up a bat, toss it in the air Harley Quinn style, and beat the shit out of him. Or would I just stare at him to show him that I remember. Or start yelling to everyone around that he was a pedophile. I never got to find out. I never saw him again.
Years later, my family member and I were having drinks and hanging out. A little alcohol usually starts conversations you wouldnt usually have. We began talking about it and realized a lot of the same things were happening to us. Awkward moments, accidental incidents, etc. And we never knew.
Now, as a mother, I have had so many talks with my kids about things like this. I have told them about what happened to me and I told them how I didnt tell anyone. I want them to speak up. They arent around anyone I don’t know. I ask them every once in a while about these things. I notice as I write this that I still don’t use the words: molestation, rape. It is such a hush hush topic surrounded by shame. But I am open with them so they don’t go through what I went through. This happens to so many people. Men and women. As a parent you can’t just ask. You have to push. You have to talk about it a lot. I am okay now. And that coward.. that monster beside the bed, will eventually die and go where he belongs.
She died from Cancer. Leiomyosarcoma. The longer the word, the rarer the cancer, the worse it is. She had gone to eat with friends and ended up in pain on the bathroom floor. My sister and I sped there and called an ambulance. They carried her through the restaurant on a stretcher. After a while at the hospital we got the results. My sister’s eyes filled with tears. Being a nurse, she knew what it meant. Looking back now, I cant remember how many times we were in and out of the hospital. We took turns, my siblings and I. We slept on the chair near her bed, went to chemo, drove to appointments. I had hope when it was early on. I thought, “We will just keep having surgery and taking it out.” Well, it doesnt work like that. I mean we did that twice. But hacking into her body messed other things up. And this cancer grows in your smooth muscles. It spreads quickly. Chemo didnt work for her. It was so hard on her body it almost killed her. She was admitted to the hospital and we could only go in her room if we had scrubs, face masks, face shields, gloves. I was splitting my time between being there for my kids and trying to help my mom in every way I could. I bought anything I could to cheer her up or to help. You can’t buy food and treats for someone who is nauseous. But you can buy games, spa day stuff, flowers, so so many flowers. It sucks not being able to do anything to make someone better.
Then her cancer was gone. We had a big family dinner. They had gotten it all. Maybe she was going to be ok. And if it did come back we would cut it out. That was my plan that I held on to.
She came over one day. She had just gone to a check up. I said, ” Well, how was your appointment?” She responded like it was a nonchalant conversation, “Well, it isnt good. It has spread everywhere. It is all over.” I think about this moment often because it was involuntary. I hugged her and sobbed uncontrollably. I was loud. It was animalistic. Then I watched her tell my oldest sister and she did the same thing. Grief is deep and draining and heavy.
My mom was beautiful, everyone said so.
She was introverted. Sarcastic. judgemental. funny. She went through a lot in her life and it shaped her. She hated being vulnerable. She loved her family. It feels wrong to live every day without her in this world. My father passed away when I was three. I am an adult in my late 30s, but somehow when both of your parents die you finally feel like you are really on your own.
We had to have a lot of conversations about how she was going to die. I had to tell my kids.
I have this perfect example of having a horrible moment but it is also beautiful. I was going to have to tell my three kids that Meme was going to die and watch them fall apart. I asked my siblings and my mom if we could all be together to do it. My kids needed to see that we are all together through this. We met at my sister’s house to have a movie night all together. We had snacks and food and sodas. We all sat on her huge couch. But before the movie I told the kids that we had some news that we needed to talk about. I explained it all. And my mom and siblings comforted them and answered questions. We all cried. We all ended the night side by side on one couch.. wrapped in blankets.. watching a funny movie. Horrible news, beautiful family, room filled with love. I have a picture from that night and all I think about is how lucky I was that night to have the family I have.
In and out of the hospital. In and out. In and out. Talk about medicine, talk about hospice, talk about walkers, wheelchairs, hospital beds. Melt down, feeling numb, meltdown again, feeling numb, argue with siblings, feel nothing towards God. Hang out with mom. Go to work and act like everything is normal. Stare at nothing.
I dont remember when she changed. But she slowly began to not be herself. The amount of drugs she was on was insane. Oxy, morphine, ambien, regalin, etc. etc. etc. If we would have had any drug addicts in our family, they could have had a field day. She was pretty out of it a lot of the time. I mentioned once that I had bad cramps and she offered me an oxy. “Mom, dont offer that to people. I will just take a tylenol. Geez.” Thank God my sister is a nurse because I felt really unsure most of the time. The first time I had to give my mom a significant amount of morphine my hand was shaking. What if I kill her? Not a crazy question.
I never thought that I would pray for my mom to die, but I did. As time went on and she was hurting and miserable I would pray for God to take her. What was the point of all of this? I have heard people say that they felt God with them during times like these but I didn’t. I felt nothing except deep sadness. I know that doesnt mean he wasn’t there. But I can’t forget how much I felt like he wasn’t around. I don’t have a nice sentiment to wrap it in.. like, “God got me through it” or “In the darkest times I felt God’s love around us”, because the truth is I didn’t. There you go, the truth. Sometimes it scares me to say those things. Like, maybe I’m not a good christian. But the truth is.. God already knows what I think and feel so I don’t need to pretend for anyone else. And I know he was there, even if I couldn’t find him.
My mom’s mind began to slip. Drugs will do that. So will lack of oxygen to the brain. She hallucinated a lot. She said and did wild things. I chased her around the living room in the middle of the night while she looked for change to go buy soup. She thought her care givers were part of the cartel or con men. She thought we were at the beach. She thought she saw body bags in the living room. Maybe it was being a criminal justice major that made her mind go there. Maybe it was all the crime shows she always watched. We would all explain over and over that she was home. My mom was fiercly independent. She was extremely smart. She would have been so mad to know that she was like that in the end.
I remember knowing that she would die soon. As a kid, I would lay on her lap or on her legs and watch a movie with her. For some reason, at the end, I needed to do that. I laid my head on her legs, held her hand, and sobbed… Sobbed for all of the moments I would not have in the future, for all of the times I would wish she was there, and for all of the moments in the past when she was.
I have never seen anyone die. It definitely wasnt how I imagined it would be. In the movies, there is this final moment, final breath, dramatic turning of the head. None of that happened. It was long, terrible, and drawn out. My sister is a nurse. She has had many patients pass away. She kept telling me things were normal when they would scare me. As I watched my mom gasp for air, I questioned everything. What was the point of this? She didnt deserve this. I actually saw her take her last breath. My siblings were talking and I said, “She quit breathing”. She had been gasping for breath for hours, eyes open but not reponsive. We held her hand, we told her we loved her. I told her I was sorry. Maybe I should have felt peace but I didnt. I wondered if she was still there. How do you know when someone’s really gone? We sat in the living room with her body while we waited for the funeral home to come pick up her body.
Siblings are such an oxymoron. My siblings can piss me off like no other. If you are reading this, you know its true. But my siblings and I are there for eachother with mob mentality. We were all together. And that saved me.
Two boys came to pick my mom’s body up. I say boys because thats what they were. They were dressed in suits and ties but all I could think was that they looked like my students at the high school. I was going to let kids take my mom’s body away. Trauma soaked into my body like wine spilt on a carpet. After they took her away I sat there on the patio with my sisters and brother. We opened wine and drank and cried. We had to get out of that house so we went to my mom’s hot tub. Who goes to a hot tub the night your mom dies? We do I guess. We stayed and talked and drank until the sun started coming up. I drove home in my wet clothes, tears rolling down my face until I parked in my drive way. I wiped away the tears, put on dry clothes, and woke my kids up and took them to school like nothing happened. I told them after school.
For about a month I had a hard time remembering anything about my mom but her death. If I am being honest I am still struggling with it, but I think it is getting better. This would make her sad. So my goal is to remember everything good and to forget the bad.
My mom was a black belt in juijitsu. Did you know that about Wanda?
She was a cop.
She was one of the first women to work at ARCO chemical plant. She was the first in our immediate family to go to college. She got a 4.0. She was a junior probational officer. She was a CASA advocate for kids in court. She was a case manager for the mentally handicapped. As you can see she was always helping people. She brought little gifts to her clients. She was always the hardest worker wherever she was. She was always immaculately dressed and put together. She took care of her family: emotionally and financially. When she first got any money she didn’t spend it on herself. She bought my pappy a truck. She bought my aunt a house and a car. She helped many people in our family. I still remember picking out christmas gifts for struggling families. I remember taking thanksgiving dinner to families. She loved helping people.
After my divorce my mom became my acting husband. She went places with us. She was my therapist and biggest support. Even after I got remarried she was a sounding board, she was my coffee date, she was my friend. She taught me basically every lesson in life.
She loved her family. Her favorite place to travel was Akumal, Mexico. Did you know that about wanda? We are going this summer and I am going to sit in her favorite place. There is a nook on the beach that is shaded by palm trees. I would wake up and go outside early in the morning and that is where she would be sitting, drinking coffee, watching the ocean. We would talk and sip our coffee. Our feet would be in the soft sand and we would watch the waves crash, hear the birds talk, and smell the salt from the sea.
My mom believed in Jesus. Her father abandoned her when she was young. She told me that the Lord’s prayer was on her wall in her room. At bedtime she would look at it and think, “I might not have a dad but I have a father.” When she knew that she was going to pass away I would ask her how she felt. I asked her if she was nervous about what happens next or if she was excited to meet God. She said, “I am not worried about what will happen next. I know whatever it is, it is going to be good. I am just worried about yall.” I hope that when my mom passed away she was met by my Nana and pappy. I hope both grannies were there. I hope my dad was there. I hope my mom is living it up. I hope she meets me when it is my time.
My mom always smelled like perfume, she had a great smile and laugh, she was sarcastic. She loved orangutangs and tree frogs. Did you know that about Wanda? Every day there is something that crosses my mind that I want to call and tell her, or I see something I would have bought for her, or I see something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I stare into the abyss thinking about how weird it is that she isn’t here.
But my mom would want me to know she is fine. She would say, “That sucked! I can’t believe I had to die that way! But I am fine, Patty. Don’t be sad. Live a happy life. We will be together again and talk about all of it.” My mom always knew how to give us all advice and how to make everything better. She was such a beautiful person. But, you knew that about wanda.
ponderwithpatty 