One of my first memories is probably at the age of 3. I was walking hand in hand with my mother before the sun came up. 1977. She had a job at the telephone company starting at 5:00am. I was barely awake, cold and shivering as it seems to always be cold in New England. She dropped me off at a pre- school for the day. I remember having a mat that I would lay on when I got there. I played with various toys until the other children arrived. I loved playing outside when the weather was warm....I would run around...go on the monkey bars and see how high I could get on the swings!
My mother never worked again past her young age of 26. I don't know why she stopped working. All I knew was that my mother was always home...and waiting for me to come home from school. A terrifying thought, since I never knew who she would be...
I have more fluid, concrete memories of " events" around the ages of 4-5 years old. I begin to realize that my mother is " different". She cried a lot. She was angry a lot. She had to go to the same store on the traffic circle, and buy the clear bottle with the red letters on it called POPOV A LOT! She had different men around the house. I start to understand that although I'm small, I am in the way a lot.
I remember thinking a lot. My father lived in a town about 10 miles away. He came to pick me up every weekend. I loved going to my fathers house. He would take me to the beach, hike with me through the woods behind his house, take me ice skating, he taught me how to ride a bike along with how to how to dribble a basketball. My father represented FUN! He was a source of comfort. He was my refuge.
Another person in my life that I sought comfort from was my grandmother. Although, my mother was inconsistent when allowing me to see her, I prayed that my grandmother would come by the house to visit. On a good day, and when my mother had to do laundry, we would go to " Grammys" house!
Grammy was always so sweet and gentle. My mother was so hostile and mean to her. I never understood her anger toward me, but I REALLY couldn't understand why she treated the most angelic woman like the devil. Grammys house sat on a hill with a backyard with big maple trees to climb. I found splice climbing as high as I could and just sitting on a branch, swaying in the wind. I can still hear Grammy saying, " Brandy-kins, you're too high, please come down, you're making Grammy
nervous!" A voice that soothed my soul! Grammy had a small, silver poodle named Gidget. This was
the first animal that I could hug without sneezing and having itchy eyes! I found love in this tiny creature! My heart melted every time I saw her little tail wag!
I distinctly remember the day that my mother broke my heart along with Gidgets. After arriving home from school, my mother informed me that we had to go to Grammys to do laundry before she came home from work. I was beyond excited because my silver haired buddy was waiting! However, my mother was in a terrible mood. I listened to her yell about total nonsense for the 15 minute ride to Grammys. When we arrived, I was greeted with sloppy kisses as my mother headed to the basement to load the washer. Eventually, my mother came back up into the kitchen and ordered Gidget to get into the basement. Although I knew I didn't stand a chance in combating her, I tried to plead with her to allow my tiny friend to stay with me. She grew more angry with every plead, and kicked Gidget down those basement steps. I was crushed, I felt my heart sink. I thought she had killed my best friend. That was the first time I can remember weeping for something that my mother hurt besides myself. That day had a profound effect on me. At 6 or 7 years old, I was devastated. I didn't know what to do. My grandmother surely would not approve of this! Why did she do that? I was so confused. Then, my mother told me that what I had just seen didn't happen. She explained to me that the dog WANTED to go down there, and not to tell Grammy that she forced Gidget down there. What was she saying? I knew the dog was kicked. I knew that Gidget and I were having a good time before my mother had her crazy idea of kicking her down the stairs! Why? This is just one example of the beginning. The beginning of my realizations that what I knew to be true was not how my mother wanted me to remember it....
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