A Motherless Child…
I believed and continue to believe myself to be a motherless child. A simple family gathering where my Aunt Vina made the statement when correcting a story regarding my daddy. She said, “No, that happen after Roy came for Ann”; then added, “Remember, she was with me until she was two years old”. I heard her. The truth freed a family secret; Southerners are very good at keeping secrets. My mother unflinchingly said, “Well, it was Roy who wanted her back home, not me”. The words cut like a knife; they would not be the last damning words to me that my mother would say.
(This is the only picture of my mother that I have)
Questions of a lifetime were answered. I was a tough child, strong minded, creative and resourceful; I knew how to survive. My daddy took care of me as best he could until I was five years old; he then brought home a wonderful black lady called Aunt Francis (yes, it was the day where such names were given that today would be offensive, but I loved her) she would be my mother until I was old enough to no longer need the care a mother would give a child. Was my mother there, of course, she was…doing her own thing. My mother was a brilliant woman with great potential; she also had love in her heart but it was reserved for others not me. She did not want me at birth and she did not want me the day she died. However, that’s another story
I survived, I grew up in the tranquility of the woods that surrounded the house I lived in, I had daddy, and Aunt Vina my daddy’s sister was still in my life. Aunt Francis taught manners and how to live with adversary; my Great-grandmother taught me how to survive in all ways. My mother instilled fear in me.
I loved my mother with every breath I took, I remember pretending that she would put her arms around me lovingly, calling me with a voice filled with love and caring. No, in all of my life, my mother has never put her arms around me or told me she loved me. And, I survived it all physically, mentally is still being questioned. Nonetheless, I flourished under those heavenly Alabama skies, I am still silent within my own loneliness, a motherless child before and after she died.
Note from Author: These stories are true…there were many children in my situation, yet few continued to love their mother as I did; I have accepted the fact that it is my destiny to be alone and to be lonely. However, writing the stories will be my gift to all who read them, I will write until the well of words dry up.
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