I don’t know what I see in this picture but it is interesting. Actually it’s pretty dark, perfect for this post. Yeah, she probably just got off work and is looking for Christmas cards. I check my mail about once a week because it’s so hot I don’t like to go out until it starts to cool off. I find myself to be a little disorganized right now. For several days all I did was work on building my website. I haven’t heard a peep from anyone about it so they must not know about it duh? It’s http://travelingthroughthepaintopeace.com/about Yeah, a lot of people get depressed around the holidays for various different reasons.
When I was growing up I remember having maybe 2-3 Christmas tree’s which made me not care one way or another if I have one unless children are around. By the time my mother was gone, she couldn’t provide for us in 1959 by herself so she had to give us up. We all went into separate foster homes and that there was devastating for all of us. We lost everything we had ever known. We were in foster homes for 2 years or so. My father had remarried so we came home one at a time until all 3 of us were “home,” whatever that was going to be. I was the oldest, then Billy and Kim. We were almost 2 years apart, and along came Wayne in 1961.
My mother had gotten pregnant by her new boyfriend but that didn’t work out for them, he left I assume and Mom went on to build another family having 3 more children and lived in Illinois. I remember getting a Disney watch of some kind on a birthday and eleven 1$ bills on my 11th birthday. I immediately started giving everyone a dollar or two but my father made them give it back it was “my” money, he said.
My grandmother would spend the entire year making us things and buying us underwear, socks and books. She also gave us girls new oxfords every year while everyone else was wearing these penny loafers. We had just managed to destroy the old one’s and here came new ones. We hated them. Yeah, if it hadn’t been for Grandma, we would never have gotten anything. My Dad never bought me anything my whole life, well except a bottle of alcohol or carton of cigarettes which he could pick up at the liquor store on one of his regular runs.
I better slow down, don’t want to feed you too much at once because it is overwhelming to hear at this time of year. Most of my money goes to the supermarket because I have to have food in the house. That’s one great thing about being grown up, I don’t go hungry much. You save your money, I try to but first I have to get the food, roof and electricity; they are all equally important. I will get depressed close to Christmas day when everyone is opening gifts, that’s a trigger for me.
I’m not depressed yet, still writing a lot just don’t know the sequence of stories to tell. True stories. I have a good relationship with my Mom today, she’s like my best friend. I can tell her anything I’ve already told her too much. The greatest gift she could ever give me would be to forgive herself for leaving us. She came back for us when I was 11+, but she didn’t have the support she needed to prove child abuse and then her sister kicked us all out. She had to give up I guess, she needed help that she couldn’t get. We did spend a couple weeks with her. I was angry at her for giving up and I had hell to pay from my father when he had to come get us. I’ll never forget the look he gave me when I got in the car along with Kim and Billy.
I guess I was the leader of the trouble makers. I miss my sister this year, like every year and my brother Wayne. Wayne died from a motor cycle accident 1981, Kim committed suicide in May 2004, my father passed in September 2005 and my grandmother died 5 days later. Then my father disinherited Billy and I and gave everything to a man we grew up with, another alcoholic. My father owned his house, had 27,000 in the bank, a van and even gold bars. Billy knew, I feared it but so unbelievable. I don’t even know where he is buried.
Well enough of that, that last one still kills me. He died with a real smile on his face. I tell myself it was probably the morphine. Don’t be too mad at my Mom, she was raised in an orphanage, I don’t think you get fed much there either. Next time I’ll tell you how I ended up in a reform school for 3 years and how I finally escaped.