Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of violence.
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of language.
Background
This is a sad story about a truly fucked up life. Amazing survival and I now know God was watching over me.
|
My mom and dad fought a lot. I vaguely remember hitting my father and screaming at him to stop hurting my mother, He was choking her, It wasn't long after that we went to stay at mom's dad's apartment. My memory of that place is acute. Like I said, old men and cigar smoke. We didn't last long there. Mom told me years later her dad said we could stay if mom slept with him. We ended up with some good people, mom's friends. It couldn't be a lasting plan, as their place was small, and they had two sons. Babs and George. I remember the couple's names.
Grandma, dad's mother found the orphanage for us, but they didn't accept anyone under three. We had to wait until sis turned three in February. Soon after we were taken for a ride in mom's boyfriends' car, which was a first, so I knew something was wrong. Sis kept asking questions. We huddled in the backseat with our packed belongings. I don't remember what mom told us then, but I knew we were going someplace to stay. Sis was scared, I told her to pretend we were asleep so they couldn't take us there.
We drove up a circular drive and stopped in front of a huge brick building. There were giant double wooden doors. The door was opened by a person dressed in long black robes, a white bib with a black veil covering her head. There was a large cross hanging around her neck, laying on the bib. Guiding us into an entrance room, there was a gigantic statue in the center of a double staircase on either side of the statue. From there, we were led into an office. The office belonged to Mother Superior, Mother Janet. I know I was begging mom not to leave us there. We were both crying. Mother Janet suggested we be taken downstairs so they could talk. Mom promised she would come and say good-bye. Ray her boyfriend waited in the car.
Left on our own in the fenced yard, it was the beginning of our separation. I stood at the fence watching, while a large group of girls descended on my sis. She was so tiny and cute, I guess like a baby doll. They led her away out of my sight. Mother never showed up. I never saw the car leave either.
After that first day, it is mostly a haze of loneliness, desperation and anger. Routine was paramount. Memories are few and scattered. The routine of course I couldn't forget. Wake up at five am, go to the bathroom, don't drink water, get dressed, go to mass. It was in the chapel within the building. I couldn't take communion because I wasn't Catholic. I longed to be one, but mother hated Catholicism. After mass there was breakfast, then school. School was also within the building.
There was a couple of harsh punishments over the years. One time, because I stood in the swing. It was forbidden because a girl had fallen and died. I got skate straps on the calves of my legs. Another, and the last time, it was because I headed a gang planning to run away. That time it was a board across the calves. It was also instrumental in us getting kicked out.
I never faulted mother for putting us in there, but I did for leaving us there for so long, five years. She didn't visit that often and when we could go for a visit, we didn't see much of her, we were at grandmas or at one of our two aunts houses.
There were a couple of good memories and kindnesses given. Once a year some Italians ladies came and made home-made spaghetti and meatballs for us. It was heaven for me. And Christmas was really special. We gave a pageant of Christ's birth and then Santa handed out presents. I always wanted to be in the pageant, but one year I was assigned to be the one to let Santa know it was time to hand out presents. I left a trail of pee behind me. I was sent upstairs in the dark alone to change. Each girl was given a mash bag like you get in the produce section of a grocery store, full of fruit and candy, a doll and a gift we asked for in a letter to Santa. That was a real blessing.
Continued-
Author Notes
Thank you Dear cleo85 for your fine art. Blessings. Xo
|
|
