On The Kitchen FloorThe day my mother died, I sunk to the kitchen floor and cried.
I love my mother. I didn't pray for her to die. I prayed that my life would get better.
When she died, it did. It got a lot better.
As a child and as an adult, I was subjected to horrible abuse by her.
I prayed that I would one day have the life that I wanted to live without being victimized by her abuse.
I was dying inside and it was showing up on the outside. Friends were worried about me because they could see the toll it was taking on me.
I had cried so much for so long, I began to feel guilty for trees. I felt that I was killing them because I used so much tissue to wipe the tears from my eyes. I finally found ladies handkerchiefs so I wouldn't feel so guilty in all of my pain.
The day she died, I cried.
I had always wanted a "normal" mother/daughter relationship. Something we never had and would never have.
At her funeral, a cousin of mine noticed my handkerchief. I told her my life was filled with so much pain (through my divorce, etc.), that I had to purchase handkerchiefs.
A week after her funeral, I was confronted with more questions about her life than answers when I found out some very disturbing things about her.
After my shock, all I could say was, "I still love you mom." I still love my mother, just not the abuse she put me through.
God answered my prayers. He saw to it that my life improved.
I am able to look at her life and death with a greater understanding and know that I am destined to become the person that I am supposed to be because I survived all of what I was subjected to.
I am thankful that my prayers were answered and I am finally free to be me.
I still cry. But, they are tears of release and tears of joy in the hope of a better and happier future.
iwritebiographies 41-45, F 1 Response 2 Jun 19, 2011