An old song said it best; Life so they say, is but a game and they let it slip away!. Don’t let this happen to you, live life to the fullest and enjoy it all, for you only go around once.
I say this because I know people who are haunted by past events and occurrences in their lives, and one of them is me. With me is lack of love and physical violence that wakes me nightly with recurring nightmares of pokers from fireplaces coming down on me, and large hands that felt like granite and stone yanking me from bed and pummeling me till I cried and slamming me back in bed. Then the voices of the fighting, yelling, plates flying and breaking on walls. Didn’t they know, their children live and hear it all?
I wonder why they never stopped, I wondered why I really did, wouldn’t you?. The screaming would start, the throwing, ranting and fighting went on, yet they stayed married for oh so long. Why? I know if i were married to someone and my life was this bad, I would have left shortly after it started, but they didn’t.
Our parents raised five of us kids, during the 1960s and 1970s. Four boys and one girl. The four boys, turned out all different and we all were affected by this act of our parents in different ways. The eldest boy turned out to be an introvert, intelligent but,he is obnoxious, arrogant, rude and treats people like they are lower than him. The second son, never got hugged, never got kissed, got beat and then made to take care of the rest as the older one played ball to escape. The third son, well he was actually a good kid under it all untill he was beaten badly for lying, stealing and more. He ended up a drug addict and died far from home, hiding from the mental and physical pain he received.
By the time the daughter arrived things mellowed a bit and she got the best of all of it. She got a new room, a new bedroom set, and never once was hit or beaten. And mom even ended up conversing with her some. Yet in the end the daughter was ignored by the mother and given not a thing, at the mother’s death, even though the daughter cared for her as she died.
The final son, well by the time he arrived and started to grow there was no one left to grow up with. He wasn’t beaten because he was the last, he was given anything he wanted within reason. He stayed until his father’s end. He is a bit of an introvert and fears everyone wants to take everything from him. Sadly, his accusations, falsely accusing his siblings have driven him from his family. This was life in the house we grew up in, sadly, yet we all survived it in one way or another. How? Don’t ask it is a miracle really.
Recently, I took a drive to the cemetary, where my sister and I paid to have our parents buried together, after they died one year and a day apart of cancer. As I stood there, looking down on their grave stone, and the winds of October blew by, I only stared and asked one question, why? Why did they do what they did with us, we were their kids, their children, why did they treat us and themselves so badly?. I guess in the end I shall never know and neither will my siblings. Today, only four of us survive, the eldest lives states away and has a wife to keep him, he can say. He has no contact with anyone, cause no one can take him for real. I have my sister and she has me, we love one another and we live free. The youngest that survived and lives, does so alone and we never see him these days. So like the grass and sands of the cemetary’s grounds as the winds blow on a an October day, we are scattered and lost because of our parents ways. I hope no one else ever grows up or lives this way.