Hey all, I hope your day was blessed with a thought or event that brought a smile to your lips or joy to your heart. I'm not sure how to write a blog and I don't want to ramble aimlessly. My mind records events like a camera. Not only do I remember life's events but I see them in my minds eye. I can tell the weather that day , the smell of the air and how I felt about that day. Just like it just happened and sometimes I want to cry. Sometimes I do. I have had heartbreak like you. I try not to think about it though, because, to think is to be there . So, my memory for today is of the past.
My mother was a alcoholic.. I came home from high school one beautiful sunshine filled day and was fooling around in the backyard. I picked up a small piece of plywood and tossed it as a Frisbee. A piece of wood broke off and went into my hand, broken off deep in my palm but poking the skin up on the back of my left hand. Hurt like hell! Mom came home from work shortly after and when I tried to explain, she walked right on by and said not now, it'll have to wait until tomorrow. She went to her bedroom and locked the door. It was the last we saw her that day, it was about 3 PM. Some how Mrs Marie from across the street heard about it and sent her youngest to get me. It was about 8PM. Mrs Marie just looked at it and said ":Oh honey, I can't get that out. You'll have to go to the emergency room.". I told her what Mom said about tomorrow and she told me that she had spoken to Mom and it would be OK. Her son who was 18, drove me to the hospital and signed all forms so that I could get treated. I finally got the wood out around 11 Pm. The next morning when I came downstairs with my hand bandaged, Mom looked at me and asked "what happened to you?" It then I knew Mrs Marie didn't talk to Mom about the hospital. Where would I have been without that dear woman across the street. I could have had severe complications if I had to wait until the next day.
This story is just one of what was to be considered normal in our childhood. Dysfunction was the standard in our household. How many Moms tell their children that she wishes that they were born dead? We heard that many times. How many times growing up did I wish that too? That's enough for today. Until next time......God Bless.