Life Thru Different Eyes 3 by ShadowsNTime
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Description
Gran had two children that survived and from what she told me 2 more that died during birth. The first was my mother and then my uncle Jack. My mother was a hateful woman, I never understood why until a few years prior to her death. I always thought she hated me because she was so cruel, and in fact she told me she hated me when I was 7 years old. I did everything I could to try to please her but nothing did. On her birthdays and at Christmas I bought her things that I hoped would make her love me...for instance, I bought her jewelry, she took it back, bought her clothes that I knew she preferred, still she took them back. I made her gifts, such as ceramic items...they went to storage, I never saw anything 'out' . I pulled weeds from my grans gardens to earn money for the gifts, and did inside chores for the same amount. I earned a dime for several hours work. That was in the 1950's when things were really cheap so a dime actually went a long way and I saved every one to be able to buy things.
I do not remember ever seeing my mother smile or hearing her laugh. I didn't know it then but now I know she was manic depressive. (That was something that was not talked about!) Just like with my great grandfather, when she entered a room, it was as though the dark followed her. She had a favorite rocking chair in the corner of the living room that she always sat in...it was next to a 'window' wall so there was plenty of light as she used only sheer curtains or no covering at all. Still it would be dark where she was...The chair faced the corner more than it faced the room because when she was angry or 'lost' she would sit facing the corner, sometimes for days at a time, never speaking, didn't eat, just sat and rocked. Because of how she was I taught myself to cook starting at age 6...I was hungry so I got the frying pan and made myself eggs. I had watched the adults cooking so I knew the basics and then I began trying everything so I before long was able to cook full course meals.
My sister was born when I was 6 so I also took over duties for taking care of her...I stood on a chair to bathe her in the kitchen sink, prepared her formula, fed , clothed and diapered her. Since I was in school by that time, I cared for her before and after school. Ocassionally my mother would come out of her darkness and then I could run free...and I did. We lived at that time on a farm with 10 acres of land, mostly forest. There was a swamp at one end of the property and a stream ran through the forest area. I spent my time in the woods, communing with the animals and just nature at her purest. We had cows, horses, chickens, ducks and rabbits that were also a part of my duties, feeding,watering,collecting eggs, and of course loving the animals. I helped to mow hay, helped to stack it, helped to clean the barn and often as I could I would hide in the hayloft to escape the wrath of my stepfather and the dark of my mother.
I learned to ride on the back of a black angus bull, my first ride landed me face down in a cowpie, ewww!!! But I learned and so when we had horses sometimes I could escape on horseback and let my imagination take me to a different life in a different place. For a short while we had a red fox as a pet so I spent time with him and then a billy goat. I learned to churn butter, make cottage cheese and those were the few good times spent with my mother, aside from walks on the beach or in the woods. Vacations were spent at Icicle Creek in the Cascade mountains or at Grey's Harbor by the ocean. In the woods I learned to find the right mushrooms and berries and of course I learned to love the fresh mountain air, the waterfalls, fishing and camping. She never talked very much so I actually knew nothing about her until my thirties and then I learned about her from my gran. Mother always walked with her hands folded in front of her and her head bent down and to the side slightly as though she was listening for something. The older she got the worse she got though she was then on pscyh meds that seemed to work sometimes.
My brother was born when I was 12. For the first time my mother seemed to come alive, it was clear that she loved him while she only tolerated me and my sister. I loved my brother more than anything, he was a smiling, happy baby that clung to me as if I were his mother. As an adult I tried to get custody of him because things were still bad at my mothers, though she never beat him or my sister. I was 10 the first time she beat me, with a willow switch that left stinging welts on my back and legs. After that she beat me time and time again, sometimes using a razor strap, sometimes a wood paddle with holes in it. Child abuse was another 'in the closet' thing back then so my life was miserable. The town we lived in was a farming community and the rich farm kids ruled the school so even there I wasn't happy except in art class. I was however a straight A student until 7th grade, it was then that I began thinking of running away...and I did at 14. Still, I loved my mother, I just hated who she was...never in my life did I ever hear an I love you from her to me or anyone else. She was a brilliant artist, painted some of the most beautiful paintings of mountain scenery and flowers and she did cake decorating...I followed in her footsteps on both of those. So she had some very admirable traits, it was just that the depression got in the way.
Funny, I was the one she turned to when she needed help and though we didn't speak for nine years, we finally made peace after my stepfather beat her so badly that she nearly died and I took care of her after my sister tossed her in the street. She died just three years later...I told her I loved her the last time I saw her but it was my brother who was with her when she died, thats who she wanted there. I hope she is at peace now and that she knows she is still loved in spite of everything...This is one of the hardest parts to write about because it breaks my heart that we could never have a loving relationship, it breaks my heart for her...
Please note: the grandmother, grandfather and great grandfather I refer to are all from the family I was raised with. I never met my Native American grandparents face to face. After the initial letter I received from my NA grandmother, I never heard from her again...I believe it was because she wanted me to have a relationship with my father before he passed away. In trying to research my NA family, I am unable to find records of them...records kept in those days were kept mostly by churches and it was scant information. The last name was West and West was a very used name in those days for Indians...I do not know their native names. It was only after I made contact with my father that I realized that the 'Smokey West' I had heard as a child referred to was in fact my father and they called him Smokey because he smoked.
The picture above is my mother, me and my sister.
To be continued...
Comments (27)
ShadowsNTime
Great recollections of some bad memories! Wado! We all learn from these: )
zoren
A story of longing, great benevolence and loving perseverance...
myrrhluz
Lynn, thank you for sharing this. Manic-depression is such a fearsome disease that in its worst forms can spread anguish around it like ink spreading blackness in a cloth. Your words filled me with compassion and wonder at your resilience. Wonderful writing, both descriptive and compelling. I have experienced the dark that entered a room with your mother. It sat with my father in his years after his stroke. A physical presence, it affected all who entered the room and crept into our thoughts and moods. That you grew up with this presence is heartbreaking as is the physical abuse you suffered. I am glad you had nature as a comfort and friend. Your memories of its power are light in the darkness. Your strength in face of your adversities is amazing, your compassion for your mother, inspiring. You were quite a scrapper, riding a bull! I hope the cowpie was old and had lost a little of its pungency. Again, thank you for sharing. I hope the writing down of your past helps to lessen its sting. I hope your mother has found peace.
MagikUnicorn
M A R V E L O U S S T O R Y
Chipka
This is one of those pieces of writing that is purely emotional, and yet it manages a thread of control that keeps everything as it should be, without veering into anger or maudlin sentimentality or anything else that would dilute the initial experience and make it seem false, or manipulative--like a Hallmark Movie of the Week, or something Oprah might produce: good stuff but manipulative as all get-out. I love the fact that you simply state the facts with enough of an emotional tinge to remind us that we're reading about humans enduring a very human situation. Since humans are such emotional beings, it only makes sense that emotion should figure so prominently, even in describing things like cooking or doing chores. What really grabs me is the sense of dignity this has, that YOU have, and how you're able to actually see the real human dignity your mother had as well. Usually when people grow up in situations like this, they become emotionally closed off and people like your mother become "the villain" or "the antagonist" (The Antagonist as in the biblical sense as one of the meanings of the word "Satan" is quite simply "Antagonist.") It's incredibly touching to read something like this, to experience it through your very measured and very precise telling. Even though it's words on a computer screen, it has the feeling of an actual spoken tale: probably told around a campfire with both story-teller and audience squatting down on their haunches or sitting with crossed legs on little reed mats or something like that, occasionally passing a tobacco pipe around, or sharing a communal drink. Well...that's the feeling I get, anyway! Oh, and you rode a bull when you were a wee little thing? Kids! With a detail like that, I'm surprised you didn't grow up to become a stunt woman. I've scarcely even ridden a horse, and YOU rode a big mean thing full of horns and muscles! WOW! I also think that whole bull-riding thing (and messy cow-patty landing) underscores the whole nature of this piece of writing. It's calm and more contemplative than anything else: very Zen in that it's a meditation on what existed (and exists even now in some way) without sinking into the mud and the muck of inappropriate and cruel emotional manipulations or judgments. It is, quite simply, a Telling, in the most sacred and humane way possible. I like it immensely! It's quite a moving piece of very human, very uplifting work. You've done an immense thing here, and I hope you collect these into a single volume to be published.
emmecielle
My dear Lynn, I came to tears reading your story! You had a very sad and troubled childhood, but this has made the wonderful woman that you are today! In your story you hear all the bitterness of failure of your mother, but despite what you loved her, nature and animals! I admire you so much, Lynn... and thank you for sharing your feelings with us! You are a great and wonderful woman... and I am proud and honored to be your friend! An affectionate hug!
flavia49
splendid writing! A big, big hug!!!!
JaneEden
Amazing story Lyn, truly moving, and my heart goes out to you. I admire you so much to have gone through so much in your childhood, and to have turned out to be the wonderful lady you are. I am amazed how you came through all that, and yet still loved your mother so, it shows what a selfless, loving lady you are, and may God bless you and always watch over you, because you deserve only the best of everything, and you really should not have to suffer healthwise the way you do. Take care dear friend, lots of love and hugs Jane xx
drifterlee
Thank you for sharing!
Eldeago
Well written Malady.
jendellas
It is amazing Lynn how you went through all those years of heartache but still loved your mum dearly. Thankyou for sharing your memories, good & bad. Take care. xxxx
magnus073
Lynn, you have done such a great job in opening up and sharing these painful and touching memories with us my friend. The love that you show for people no matter how they have treated you says so much for your character and the kind of wonderful lady you are. You are always in my prayers and my thoughts.
jmb007
belle histoire!
sandra46
FANTASTIC WRITING
dhanco
What a touching and heart rendering story, Lynn. So well spoken and the hard times are what make us what we are today, I guess. Really well written!
auntietk
You continue to tell your story beautifully, dear one. Thank you for sharing yourself with us. I know you know how much it means to me to read about your life ... there's such healing in the telling and in the hearing!
farmerC
Shining.
DarkStormCrow
Excellent photo and write up, well done...
beachzz
Beautifully written--so often our lives start out not very well. We do all we can to get thru it--you have and for that I applaud you. Thanks for sharing this very intimate part of your life.
amota99517
Your writing is so heart felt and stirring. You really bring the reader into your story and make them a part of it. I hope the years have made things easier for you.
durleybeachbum
Thankyou so much, Lynn! Your openness must be an enormous help to others who suffered like you, and I hope that you also find catharthis in the telling. You are a superb wordsmith!
Richardphotos
very touching memory.good you were able to be a normal person.
npauling
A very moving story Lynn and I am sorry you had such an awful childhood but I guess it was hard to understand when you were a child. I'm glad you made your peace with her as she did have very bad depression and didn't know what she was doing. I hope by writing this it helps with your healing too.
digggger
sad story, i hope writing helps heal and that you now are able to move on.
helanker
Lynn! This is such a moving story about your childhood. It must have been such a heavy way of growing up and in spite of that, you have become such a beautiful soul. So many become an adult so full of anger, but not you. I admire you for that. You are a beautiful example for many in the same situation. Thank you so much for opening up for your painful childhood. I am deeply touched.
Alex_Antonov
Beautiful work!
anahata.c
I just love reading the responses. You know how much I appreciate this series, your language, your 'voice', your absolute honesty in conveying these difficult convoluted souls, and the way you find redemption in everyone, even in the most painful parts of your & their lives. You truly do capture the child's voice, it's clear & simple & direct. And you write with a self-effacing simplicity that betrays the great weight of what you're conveying; yet that weight is wholly present to all of us. And it makes many of your readers grateful: I see it again & again in the comments. Grateful because they're reading something direct, without intervention, honest, painful yet told with the ease of a true tale teller; and much truth is revealed. I'm only back for one comment per gallery today (I still need to rest for awhile), so I'm only commenting on this; but you know how I feel about all of it. And it's always astonishing how a child who is rejected by such a mother still is the mother to that mother in the end. The eternal reversal...And how the mother never understands how much she needs that child's mothering, even when she can't admit it. (It's as true of fathers too, as you know, I'm sure.) And here you were the mother to your mother, who couldn't see or understand her need or her fear. You do nothing to sugar coat this, yet you don't ask us for sympathy either: You simply tell it as life, pure and simple. (And she was a fine artist: How beauty can grow out of agonizing beginnings in our lives.) This series is just wonderful, Lynn, for all its pain and baring honesty. And I add, to the chorus of others, genuine & deep gratitude. A powerful truthful series...